It was even later than usual when he came in on the night of the ball, and when he entered, every one in the house was hurrying about in the inevitable confusion which precedes a "great occasion." Edith, the only one who seemed to be ready, was standing in the middle of the living-room, fresh and glowing as a yellow rose in her bright dress, Peter beside her buttoning her gloves. She glanced at her grimy brother with a feeble interest. "Mercy, Austin, you'd better hurry! We're going to leave in five minutes." "Well, _I'm_ not going to leave in five minutes! I've got to get out of these clothes and have a bath and it's hardly necessary to tell me all that--one glance at you is sufficient," said Edith flippantly. "Well, I can come on later alone, I suppose. Where's mother?" "Still dressing. Why?" "Do you happen to know whether--Sylvia's been over here this afternoon--or sent a telephone message or a note?" "I'm perfectly sure she hasn't. Why?" "Nothing," said Austin grimly, and left the room. Like most people who try to dress in a hurry when they are angry, Austin found that everything went wrong. There was no hot water left, and he had to heat some himself for shaving while he took a cold bath; his mother usually got his clothes ready for him when she knew he was detained, but this time she had apparently been too rushed herself. He couldn't find his evening shoes; he couldn't get his studs into his stiff shirt until he had had a struggle that raised his temperature several degrees higher than it was already; the big, jolly teamful departed while he was rummaging through his top drawer for fresh handkerchiefs; and he was vainly trying to adjust his white tie satisfactorily, when a knock at the door informed him that he was not alone in the house after all; he said "come in" crossly, and without turning, and went on with his futile attempts. "Has every one else gone? I didn't know I was so late--but I've been all through the house downstairs calling, and couldn't get any answer. Let me do that for you--let's take a fresh one--" He wheeled sharply around, and found Sylvia standing beside him--Sylvia, dressed in shell-pink, shimmering satin and foamy lace, with pearls in her dark hair and golden slippers on her feet, her neck and arms white and bare and gleaming. With a little sound that was half a sob, and half a cry of joy, she flung her arms around his neck and drew his face down to hers. "Austin--I'm--I'm sorry--I do--beg your forgiveness from the bottom of my heart. I promise--and I'll keep my promise--to be reasonable--and kind--and fair--to stop making you miserable. It's been all my fault that we've quarrelled, every bit--and we never will again. I've come to tell you--not just that I'll go to the party with you, gladly, if you're still willing to take me, but that there's nothing that matters to me in the whole world--except you--"