"You mean we were doing it decorously rather than in a romp!" she laughed. "I don't like rompish dancing, Mr. Porshinger." "Nor do I; but there is a happy medium--as you showed with Burgoyne," he replied calmly. "That is what I had in mind." "When you have known me as long as they have, our steps doubtless will fit as well also." "Let us hope that it won't be so long deferred," he answered, bending down and whispering it confidentially in her ear. "When may I have another try--may I have the third from now?" "I shall dance no more before the cotillon," she replied. "Then sit out another with me," he pleaded--in the certain compelling manner he at times assumed; and which she tolerated because it amused her, and because it was Porshinger who did it--and she was playing a game. "Here is the conservatory; let us investigate the abode of the flowers," he said. She hesitated a moment, then permitted him to lead her in. She had seen Gladys Chamberlain just ahead of her. "How charming! how entrancing!" she exclaimed, as they entered. "A veritable fairyland." "It is very pretty," Porshinger agreed. "You don't enthuse. Look how the light falls on the palms and the cactus and the rhododendron, yet you don't see whence it comes." "It comes from the roof!" he laughed. "Nevertheless, I grant you the fairyland--a maze of flowers and foliage, with _you_ the Fairy, madame." "The Fairy-madame!" she laughed. "How romantic." Gladys had disappeared, but other couples were strolling about. "Which shows how important is a comma," he remarked. "Let us sit yonder," indicating two chairs well hidden by a palm, "while I enjoy my little trip into fairyland with the Fairy." It was not far from the entrance and Stephanie complied. "Do you know," he said presently, "we are almost quite concealed by this tree--what a charming place it is, so near and yet so far." "Particularly so near!" she rejoined. "And particularly so far!" he smiled, apparently all unconsciously letting his arm fall around her waist but without touching her. The next moment he suddenly drew her to him and bent over. "Just one," he said. And before she could so much as struggle he kissed her on the lips. "You vile coward!" she panted, held close in his arms yet writhing to be free. "You miserable cur! You----" "Why struggle so, Stephanie--no one saw," he whispered. She was but pretending. She tore herself loose--only to be caught back again and crushed closer. "Let me go!--_Let me go!_" she gasped frantically. This was no pretense, and he realized it. He had thought it would be otherwise--had thought that she would be a yielding beauty--and the mistake angered him. He was not given to making mistakes. She had drawn him on--and now---- "You didn't struggle so with Pendleton on the porch at Criss-Cross," he said, kissing her again and again.... "Aren't mine just as sweet and worth as much as his?"