He brushed roughly past Edith, paying not the slightest attention to her. He seized Mahala’s programme, and against her protests, began writing his name all over it. Her father and mother were standing directly behind her; beside them, his own parents. Edith glanced toward them in a vain effort to hide the quiver of her lips, and saw that all of them were laughingly acquiescing. Junior, looking over Mahala’s head, saw them, also. Carried away by their approval, he caught Mahala into his arms and swept her into the first dance. Then, guiding her to a flower-screened corner, in the scarcely adequate shelter of the foliage, he deliberately crushed her in his arms and kissed her on the mouth. She pushed him away, protesting angrily. With a bit of lace supposed to be a handkerchief, she roughly scoured the curve of her lips to a brighter red than the freely flowing blood of the evening had tinted them. That provoked Junior so that he said to her: “You might as well stop that! You’re the only girl I love, or ever intend to love, and I’m going to marry you. I’ve got a lot selected and I’m working on the plans for our house right now.” Mahala drew back and looked at Junior intently for a few seconds, looked as deep into his eyes as any one ever saw into the eyes of either Moreland, father or son. She said slowly and deliberately: “If that’s the truth, Junior, you’re wasting time. I’m not going to marry any one until I’ve finished college, and I have not the slightest intention of marrying you at any time.” A slow red mounted into Junior’s cheeks, a queer spark of white light snapped in the back of his eyes. “You don’t mean that,” he said tensely. “You only say it to get me going. You want me down on my knees before you. You want me to whine and beg for you like a hungry puppy dog.” Mahala reached out a hand and deliberately laid it upon Junior’s. “Junior,” she said, “listen to me. You know that isn’t the truth. To save your life, you can’t name one time when I ever said a word or did a thing to encourage you in the belief that I liked you better than any of the other boys. Think a minute. You _know_ I never did. I’m not going to marry you. You might as well not set your heart on it. I don’t want you to cringe and beg; I’m not asking anything of you but to leave me alone. Can’t you get it into your head that I mean what I say?” She brushed past him and started in the direction of her father and mother. Junior saw that the fingers of the hand that had lain upon his were now lightly touching the petals of a white rose that was homing on her breast.