Between rage and passion Barnard’s habitual self-control forsook him. Catching her hand he forcibly closed her fingers over the ring. “It’s yours, yours--do you hear!” “No, no,” she retreated several steps from him, and he followed her, his face alight with passion. “My own darling!” But she struck down his encircling arm, and fled back into the drawing-room. Pausing to regain her usual tranquil bearing, she discovered she had stopped beside Duncan Fordyce, and she drew back. During the past week an indefinable something in Duncan’s manner, an aloofness, and a lack of the gentle deference he had first accorded her, had been noticeable. From seeing him frequently, she hardly saw him at all. She partly turned and studied him attentively. The dimple, almost a deft, relieved his stubborn chin of some of its aggressiveness, and while he could never be called handsome, he carried the “hall mark,” and his fine figure never showed to better advantage than in a dress suit, the crucial test offered to mankind by modern customs tailors. Involuntarily she contrasted him with Barnard, and admitted in her own mind, that the latter, as ingratiating and handsome as he was, suffered by the comparison. Her woman’s intuition warned her that Duncan was a man to be trusted, while Barnard.... Tired of watching the dancers, Duncan swung around to leave the ballroom and almost collided with her. “You here!” he exclaimed. “And I didn’t know it.” He pulled himself up, and his manner changed. “You must think me very rude, Miss Marjorie.” “Oh, no, only absorbed,” lightly, scanning the scene before her. “There’s Janet dancing with Tom Nichols.” “As per usual,” Duncan laughed outright. “Where are your eyes, Miss Chaperon?” Marjorie reddened. “Upon my word, I look on Tom as a brother--I never thought....” her voice trailed off, and Duncan waited in vain for her to finish her sentence. “Nichols is a good fellow,” he said finally. “I like him. Shall we dance?” The invitation was given in so perfunctory a tone that Marjorie’s ears tingled. She checked the curt refusal on her lips, and instead accepted with a nonchalance which matched his own. He should pay for his indifference, pay dearly, she vowed to herself, and her alluring smile stirred his pulses. Like many big men he was extremely light on his feet, and Marjorie circled the room with him in complete enjoyment of the dance. Suddenly her strength deserted her, and she stumbled and leaned heavily on his arm. “The heat,” she murmured, as alarmed he bent toward her. “I will be better in the hall.” Shielding her from the other dancers, he helped her from the room. The cooler atmosphere outside revived her somewhat, and she was mumbling some words of apology into Duncan’s anxious ear when Mrs. Walbridge hove in sight. Seeing the pair sitting on the stairs, she moved toward them as rapidly as her avoirdupois permitted. Quickly Duncan explained the situation to her.