Presently they were all talking, to their partners, across the table, even to Aunt Ellen. The exhilarating sound of voices rose to a hum, then a concerted babble broken by laughter. It grew animated, it grew sparkling, it grew brilliant. Chrystie, with parted lips and glistening eyes, became as artlessly amusing as she was in the bosom of her family. She was delightful, her frank enjoyment a charming spectacle. Lorry, in that seat which so short a time before had seemed but one remove from the electric chair, now reigned as from a throne, proudly surveying the splendors of her table and the gladness of her guests. When it was over, the last carriage wheels rumbling down the street, the girls stood in the hall and looked at one another. Aunt Ellen, creaking in her new silks, toiled up the stairs, an old, shaky hand on the balustrade. "Come up, girls," she quavered; "you must be dead tired." "Well," breathed Lorry with questioning eyes on her sister, "how was it?" Chrystie jumped at her and folded her in a rapturous embrace. "Oh, it was maddening, blissful, rip-roarious! Oh, Lorry, it was the grandest thing since the water came up to Montgomery street!" "You _did_ enjoy it, didn't you?" "Enjoy it! Why, I never had such a galumptious time in my life. They all did. The Barlow girls are on their heads about it--they said so and I saw it." "I think everybody had a good time." "Of course they did. But, oh, didn't you nearly die at the beginning? I was sick. Honestly, Lorry, I felt something sinking in me down here, and my mouth getting all sideways. If it hadn't been for that man I'd have just slipped out of my seat under the table and died there at their feet." "He saved it," said Lorry solemnly, as one might mention a doctor who had brought back from death a beloved relative. The gas was out and they were mounting the stairs, arms entwined, warm young flesh on warm young flesh. "Isn't he a thoroughbred, isn't he a gem!" Chrystie chanted. "I'd like to go to Mrs. Kirkham's tomorrow, climb up her front stairs on my knees and knock my forehead on the sill of her parlor door." "Did you really like him? I think he's clever and entertaining but I wouldn't want him for a friend." "I didn't think about him that way. I just sort of stood off and admired. He's the most _magnetic_ thing!" "Yes, I suppose he is, but--" "There are no buts about it." Then in the voice of knowledge, "I'll tell you what he is, I'll put it in terms you can understand--he's the perfect specimen of the real, genuine, solid gold nugget." CHAPTER XII A KISS