“Oh, Dad,” she said, regretfully, “we’ve missed our dance, but we’ll have another later. Take good care of my family, Geraldine,” she called laughingly as she whirled away in young Joyce’s arms, her mind still on the slow moving time that separated her from Templeton Druid. “Would you care to dance, Mrs. DeLacy, or would you prefer sitting it out?” asked Hugh. “Oh, let’s talk,” Geraldine replied eagerly. “I can _always_ dance, but—” Her eyes were full of meaning. Hugh linked her arm within his and led her out to one of the verandahs. “Will you have a wrap?” he inquired solicitously. “Thank you, no,—the night is glorious.” “This seems cozy,” Hugh said, as he drew up two wicker easy chairs beside a row of potted palms. They were at the farthest end of the verandah. Music floated out from the ballroom, the soft rays of the moon slanted toward them, and the fragrance of the sweet peas and roses was wafted up from the sunken gardens. Geraldine heaved a little sigh of contentment and settled back in her chair: “I’m sorry to have made you miss your dance with Elinor.” “The pleasure of meeting you has entirely recompensed me,” Hugh replied gallantly. “How lovely of you to say that.” Geraldine stared at Hugh so openly for a few moments, that he found himself blushing like a school-girl. “I—I—beg your pardon,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to stare so rudely, only I just _can’t_ realize it.” “What is it that you can’t realize?” “Why, that you are Elinor’s father—you are so—so young!” “I’m forty-four years old,” Hugh answered smilingly. “Really, Mr. Benton! Surely you have discovered an elixir of youth. I’ve met Mrs. Benton, and I can’t understand how you—oh please—forgive me—I have an abominable habit of thinking aloud.” Geraldine lowered her eyes while she waited anxiously to see what effect her thrust had taken. “My wife is four years younger than I,” Hugh replied gravely. “You must remember that time deals more lightly with a man than it does with a woman.” “You won’t think I’m presuming if I say that anyone would take Mrs. Benton to be many years your senior. Has she been ill?” “No, Mrs. Benton has not been ill,” he sighed. “She is quite reserved, and a bit old-fashioned. Don’t you think it rather difficult to keep one’s youth without indulging in a few modern pleasures?” “Indeed, I do,” Geraldine answered, and her sigh asked for understanding as she added, as though reluctantly, “and I can sympathize with you—my husband and I were—er——”