“You poor child,” she said. “Go right upstairs to my bedroom and lie down. You will find a pitcher of ice water up there, or do you prefer a glass of champagne?” Marjorie replied in the negative. “Then go right up, my dear; I’ll be along presently,” and she moved toward the ballroom. “Would you like me to go with you?” inquired Duncan anxiously. “Or shall I ring for a servant?” “Neither, please. I know the house well, and I’ll be all right after a short rest. You’ve been very kind,” holding out her hand impulsively. He held it tightly in both his own for a second, then silently left her. She watched his tall form out of sight, and sighing started slowly upstairs. “Well, Duncan, where have you been hiding?” asked Janet, meeting him on his return to the ballroom. “Smoking,” laconically. “Do you want to dance?” “Of course I do,” with uncompromising honesty. “You haven’t been near me this evening.” “I saw you were plentifully supplied with partners,” Duncan suited his step to Janet’s. “Having a good time?” “Oh, lovely,” and Janet’s animated face attested the fact. “Where’s Marjorie?” They had reached the end of the room, and as they made the turn, a man left the group of stags and placed a detaining hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “Brother and sister dancing together,” laughed Barnard. “This will never do. Split this number with me, Miss Janet?” “Perhaps I will,” Janet hesitated. “It will serve you right, Duncan; you’ve neglected me shamefully....” waving a gay farewell she and Barnard disappeared in the crowd of dancers. Duncan, making his way to the smoking-room, encountered Pauline, and paused to talk with her. Barnard, conversing as he danced, finally observed Pauline and Duncan sitting together. “Your brother had better resign himself to the inevitable; Miss Calhoun-Cooper has her talons on him,” he laughed. “You don’t know Duncan,” retorted Janet. “He has a will of his own.....” An awkward couple cannonaded heavily against her.... “Ouch!” “Are you hurt?” questioned Barnard in alarm, as Janet came to an abrupt stop. “I think that man has lamed me for life,” she groaned. “His heel came down on my instep.” “The cow; he needs a ten-acre lot to dance in!” Barnard scowled at the receding couple. “Hadn’t you better sit down, Janet?” “Where?” and she glanced despairingly about. “Come this way,” pointing to the tea-room, and Janet limped after him to the window recess behind the palms, and settled herself comfortably on the wide cushioned window-seat. “You must be very tired, my dearest,” glancing solicitously at her. “The penalty for being the belle of the ball.” “You shouldn’t thrust honors upon me,” she laughed. “There’s nothing too good for you,” he whispered. “No wonder men adore you; you little darling”--she moved uneasily as his arm slipped around her waist. “Why won’t you let me speak to your father?” “Not yet,” she stammered. “A little more time, Chichester----”