“Why doesn’t she go away,” muttered Barnard disgustedly. “Lately, I seldom have you to myself. If I was of a suspicious nature, I might think it was intentional”--Janet squirmed in her chair, and after contemplating her a moment in smiling satisfaction, Barnard again inspected Mrs. J. Calhoun-Cooper. “She looks like an Indian begum.” “Don’t be so unkind in your criticism,” with an effort Janet summoned a careless smile. “Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper’s gown is a creation.” “Hum! the modiste has left most of the surface to be covered by jewels--cold comfort tonight. Don’t you want your scarf over your shoulders?” “No, thank you; I am still warm from dancing.” Janet’s eyes again sought the throng below her. “I wonder where Marjorie is--and Duncan. Oh, look, who is the pretty woman dancing with Joe Calhoun-Cooper?” Barnard glanced in the direction she indicated, and his eyebrows rose suggestively. “No one you are likely to know, lady bird. How fearfully they dance.” “She is graceful,” declared Janet. “But Joe--nothing could make him so.” “Women take to the new-fangled dances better than the men,” grumbled Barnard. “Give me the old-fashioned waltz and two-step every time. Even the music has deteriorated; no melody any more. Listen to that,” as the Marine Band burst into a popular tune, “nothing to be heard but the big drum, it drowns every other instrument--hark!” “But I don’t want to hear it,” she objected. “Let us talk instead.” “That is just what we can’t do--the big drum sounds distinct and clear; listen--!” [Illustration: “Barnard again inspected Mrs. J. Calhoun-Cooper. ‘She looks like an Indian begum.’”] Mrs. J. Calhoun-Cooper’s ever busy eyes had also noted the pretty woman with whom Joe was dancing, and a displeased frown marked her forehead. She was about to send one of her guests after Joe with a message that she desired his presence, when she observed Marjorie Langdon approaching. Joe and his pretty partner stopped dancing near the latter, and Marjorie, recognizing Kathryn Allen, stepped forward and held out her hand, but no sign of recognition lighted the nurse’s face, and after inspecting Marjorie with marked insolence she cut her dead. Mrs. J. Calhoun-Cooper, an interested spectator of the little drama, thrilled with satisfaction as she caught the hot resentment that flamed in Marjorie’s face. Controlling herself, Marjorie stepped back out of the crowd and came face to face with Duncan Fordyce. “I don’t know where you’ve been keeping yourself,” he said, “but I searched both ballrooms and haven’t found a sign of you until now.” “I haven’t been dancing,” she sighed rather wearily. “Mrs. Burns asked me to sit in her box for a while; I am on my way back to Janet now to arrange about going down to supper.” “Let us have one dance first,” pleaded Duncan, and taking silence for consent, he slipped his arm about her waist and they threaded a way through the other dancers.