Tom’s lips were compressed in a hard line as he bowed to Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper, who was occupying an adjoining seat in the next box, and leaning across the brass railing which divided them, he conversed for a short time with her. A movement in his own box caused him to turn back, and he discovered Janet on the point of leaving. He stepped in front of her deliberately. “My dance, Miss Janet,” he announced. A quick denial sprang to her lips, only to be checked by the quiet confidence of his manner. Tom encountered von Valkenberg’s astonished stare over her shoulder, and addressed him directly. “Sorry, Baron, to disappoint you, but Miss Janet promised me this dance some time ago; come,” and with care he assisted Janet down the few steps leading to the floor. So congested was the dancing that after circling the room once Tom stopped his partner near the entrance to the small ballroom and led her inside it. “Suppose we sit over there,” he said pointing to some chairs at the farther corner of the room. “There is no pleasure in dancing with such a mob on the floor.” “It’s much cooler here,” volunteered Janet, a few minutes later, breaking a pause which threatened to become awkward. “Yes,” absently. Janet glanced askance at Tom. She had longed to see him, and now that he was by her side, she was tongue-tied. She knew that every instant spent in Tom’s society would arouse Barnard’s jealous rage, but forbidden fruit was sweet. “Why did you boast of our motor trip to Hyattsville?” she blurted out. “I, boast of it? I never mentioned it to a soul!” If she had exploded a firecracker before Tom, he could not have been more astounded. “I swear I never told anyone,” he added, with vigor, and her aching heart was comforted. “I believe you,” she answered, with such trust kindling her shy regard that Tom hitched his chair closer to her side. “Did you really think I had betrayed your precious confidence in me?” Janet shook her head. “I couldn’t, just couldn’t, believe it,” she admitted. “You darling!” Tom’s hand sought hers. “Who dared to say I boasted of such a thing?” “As long as you didn’t do it, the rest doesn’t matter,” declared Janet, with true feminine logic, and changed the subject abruptly. “Was it fun at the White House?” “I’d have enjoyed it more if I hadn’t wanted to be elsewhere,” admitted Tom truthfully. “An invitation to the White House is final--to an army or navy officer; I couldn’t decline it, no previous engagement plea goes. I hope you understand....” “Oh, quite,” Janet was nervously playing with her fan. “But there have been other times when you might have co--when the White House wouldn’t have interfered with your coming to--to--see me.” “Only your wish kept me away.” “My wish?” Startled, Janet faced toward him. “Certainly; how else was I to construe your silence?” “My silence!” indignantly. “Did you want me to cry from the house-tops that I wished to see you?”