Yet the lawyer, staring at the purple night of river, pondered. If old pictures and old letters told the truth there was always, even in those crinolines, in those little cream and rouge pots and dainty curls and fichus, Revolt. Who, dear indignant Mama, wore those exceedingly décolleté ball gowns where half the bosom was exposed? Does not old poetry hint at delicious skins, and curves and fragrances and coiled enticements? Watts grinned. "Funny," the man thought, "it was all a heap more sensuous than those skinny little muscular worldlings in there, only it was unconscious. The Victorian tradition was somehow able to have kisses stolen and little ankles noted and a fervid, tight clasping waltz danced without for one moment facing what the thing meant; so mid-Victorians got by with little censure; but it was far away from frankness and honesty and truth." The tall, dark man staring through the windows caught sight of Minga, standing alone near the entrance, and he hastened toward her. The girl in the blue gown with its orange butterflies had a curious look of defiance and of being at bay that the lawyer instantly noticed. Watts bent over her with real tenderness. The little bobbed head was held very high. "All alone?" The lawyer was no habitué of stag lines; he did not know that this was a fatal thing to say to a girl of Minga's group. But the music struck up, and he, a lover of music and dancing, felt the answering striking up of his being. "Will you dance?" he asked her, a little awkwardly. To the man's surprise, Minga, with a curious little catch of the breath, almost flung herself into his clasp. Considering the difference in their height, they went well together. Watts, with a sort of boyish pride, saw the wondering, derisive glance of the important "stag line" as they slid by. The room rapidly filled; the babel and clash of the regulation dance was on. Shipman loved dancing almost childishly. His head, dappled dark, was picturesque; the curious grim look of his dark face made him conspicuous among the couples that interlaced each other in pacing, gliding, backing measures. Miss Aurelia, seated in a row of commenting elders, noticed Minga, her vivid face laid not too restrainedly along the dark line of the lawyer's arm; she indicated this to Sard, who had brought Tawny Troop up to introduce him. "My dear!" Miss Aurelia in gray satin and lace was pontifical, "Isn't Minga too familiar, a little conspicuous? Mr. Shipman is such a dignified man. I'm sure he doesn't like it; but, of course, he doesn't know what to do. What man would?" Sard smiled. "Mr. Shipman always does know what to do. If he thinks Minga oughtn't to do that, he'll tell her so; but I don't believe he thinks so." "Oh!" breathed Miss Aurelia; she spoke behind her handkerchief to the friend on the other side. "Happy little Sard," she said sentimentally, "so loyal; she quite spoils Minga Gerould," breathed Miss Aurelia.