As for her father--Richard Darcy would have been a distinguished figure in any assemblage he chose to enter, with his six feet of gallantly carried avoirdupois, his finely modeled head, his gray mustache and imperial concealing a mouth that might otherwise have left something to be desired. He wore that night--and wore well--clothes of the palest gray flannel, with socks and buckskin shoes to match, and a gray stripe in his white tie, and a gray monogram embroidered upon the exquisite cambric of his handkerchief. This was the parent who a few weeks ago she had associated irrevocably in her mind with spots and frayed collars! She found herself wishing that her mother could see him now--she would be so proud of him!... To her own appearance Joan gave little consideration. She had discovered that the great advantage of good clothes is that you no longer have to think about them. She was quite unaware of the value in contrasts she afforded--her small, dark, smoothly combed head lifted proudly on its long neck, the awkward grace of her thin young body, the pale oval of her face lit by surprisingly vivid eyes, of the sort that are dreamy and shadowed until excitement turns them into soft blue fire. She was excited that night, a little frightened. She did not smile at all, but there was that about her lips--sensitive, wistful, faintly drooping--that made more than one person who glanced at the Darcy table wonder what the smile would be like if it came. When the dancing began, Effie May's exuberance could no longer contain itself. "This is something like!" she cried. "This is what I call life! Come on, Dick--'Waltz me around again, Willie, around, around, around!'" "But," protested the Major, "it is some time since I have waltzed, my love--" "Never mind, you'll waltz with me! Anybody can dance with me. The boys used to call me Lightfoot Ef--Oh, but you'll have to get a partner for Joan, first, of course; I forgot we had a family along." The girl flushed, aghast at the thought of her father whirling in the midst of that whirling throng. "No, no, Effie May, please--!" she urged. "Let's just sit here quietly and look on." The other laughed aloud. "Naturally! That's what we've come to a dance for, to sit against the wall and look on--Nonsense! Go and find your child a partner, Dick, and hurry back. My feet just won't keep still." She was humming gaily in time with the orchestra. The Major, gazing a little blankly at the crowd of strangers before him, obediently went forth to do her bidding, and Effie May seized the occasion to give a little womanly advice.