As befitted the most honored guest, she was seated next to her host at the table. At first he was discreetness personified in all his actions toward her. But as the dinner progressed and he imbibed more and more freely of the various wines the possession of which only he could have explained, he threw all caution to the winds. Openly he avowed his passion for her. “I’m mad about you, darling,” he whispered, bending his head close to her ear. “Each time I see you, I want you more and more for my very own.” Elinor listened with shining eyes. “I’m glad to hear you say that, dear,” she nodded, “because there’s something I want to talk to you about. The most disagreeable thing has happened at home and——” “Won’t have you telling me disagreeable things on—my birthday.” He hiccoughed slightly. “Going to stop that pretty little mouth with kisses.” And disregarding guests, appearances, he grabbed her to him to carry out his threat. “Please—please, Templeton.” She struggled to free herself, her face suffused with blushes. “Let me go! You embarrass me dreadfully! Don’t you see everyone is looking at you.” “Let ’em look. What do I care? You’re my little girl—I love you, and I’m proud of it! So there—and there!” He caught the struggling girl with one arm, swung her from her chair, as he emphasized his words with fervent caresses. With face suffused with scarlet, Elinor Benton drew herself from the arms of the man who had so publicly declared himself her lover. But as she glanced at Druid’s other guests, in full expectation of an embarrassing few moments, she was as much bewildered as surprised to see that the episode had passed unnoticed. Each was too intent on his or her own affairs. A small stream of wine flowed redly across the white cloth from its shattered goblet that had been overturned as Marie Shaw, a Follies girl, had over-reached herself in her attempt to bombard Giles Fellowes, her own pet press agent, who sat across the table with the centerpiece of orchids which now trailed, a bedraggled mess half down to the floor. Teddy Martin, a composer, who himself admitted he was a popular one, wanted to show off his latest hit. He tipped over his chair in his eagerness to reach the piano. Harold Westley, handsome as a screen actor should be, danced over to Elinor and pulled her away from Templeton Druid. “Come on,” he urged. “Teddy’s giving us a fox trot,” then, as Druid put out an unsteady protesting hand, he laughed at him: “Needn’t think, just because you’re one of those ‘appears, personally, himself’s’ that you can monopolize Miss Benton the whole evening!” Before she realized it, Elinor felt herself whirled away in the movie actor’s arms. “Some party—I’ll say,” he drawled. “Having a good time?” “Wonderful,” she answered. “I’ve never been to anything like this before—it’s so different.” “How do you mean—different?”