“It won’t work,” Lily’s mother predicted ominously. “Ada Corey’s father took the right course; he simply put his foot down and that ended the matter. Why can’t you do as Mr. Corey did?” Mr. Dodge uttered sounds of rueful laughter. “I’ve put my foot down with Lily so many times I’ve worn the sole off my shoe. Remember, too, it’s not so long ago since she cured herself of another infatuation because you thought it would be better for us to withdraw our opposition.” “That was utterly different, and the whole Osborne affair was a mere childish absurdity. Lily’s older now, and you’re proposing a terribly dangerous thing.” “Nevertheless, let’s try it. What else _can_ we do but try it?” “I suppose we’ve got to, since you’ve made up your mind,” his wife said, stubbornly. “But I consent to it under protest. She’s absolutely infatuated, and we’re throwing her straight in his arms. You’ll see!” This tragic prophecy of hers was in a fair way to be fulfilled almost immediately, she thought, the next evening, as she sat in the little gallery of the Blue Hills Country Club ballroom and looked down upon the dancers. The radiant Lily danced again and again with the picturesque Gleason; and her posture, as they moved gracefully together, was significant—her vivid, delicate face was always uplifted, so that her happy eyes, sweetly confident, seemed continuously engaged with pretty messages to her partner. The poetically handsome Price, on his part, bent his dark head above her ardently; and a stranger would have guessed them at first sight to be a pair newly betrothed. In fact, Mrs. Dodge was disquieted by much such a guess of her own, and her heart sank as she watched them. Moreover, while her heart sank, her indignation rose. This, then, was the result of Mr. Dodge’s new policy! And she wished that he had been beside her to see its result—and to hear her opinion of it! Her guess, however, like that of the supposititious stranger, was not quite accurate. Lily was not engaged to Mr. Gleason—not “absolutely” so, to report her own feeling in the matter. But she would have admitted being “almost”—almost engaged—that night. The Mexican hero had never definitely proposed marriage, any more than she had felt herself prepared for a definite consent to such a proposal; but his every persuasive word and look and all her own reciprocal coquetry pointed to that end. And as the evening continued and they danced and danced together, murmuring little piquancies to each other meanwhile, the haziness implied in “almost” seemed more and more on the point of being dispersed. Lily preferred that it be not quite; but her partner was “wonderful” to look up to, and to listen to as she looked. He had warmly appreciative dark eyes and a stirring mellow voice; and he danced, if not like a Mordkin, then at least like a Valentino, which may sometimes be preferable. All in all, she might have been swept away if he had pressed the sweeping.