She was the happier because he did not—the indefinite “almost” was so much pleasanter and more exciting—and she had what she defined as a simply magnificent time. Now and then she knew, in an untroubled, hazy way, that a mute doomfulness hovered above her in the gallery; but she felt that her mother was behaving excellently—most surprisingly, too—in not interfering at all. The one thing to bother Lily—and that only a little, and because it puzzled her—came at the very end of the evening. It was something her friend Ada said to her as they were alone together in the corner of a cloakroom, preparing to go home after the last dance. XX DAMSEL DARK, DAMSEL FAIR “DIDN’T I tell you that you could get away with anything?” Ada said. “Weren’t all three of ’em just as wild about you to-night as if you hadn’t done it?” “Done what?” “Skipped out to walk with me and didn’t leave any word behind, when you’d made engagements with all of ’em.” And then, as Lily’s flushed and happy face showed a complete vagueness upon the matter, Ada exclaimed, “Good gracious! Yesterday!” Lily remembered, but as one remembers things of long ago. “Oh, that?” she said, dreamily. “It wasn’t anything.” Ada looked at her sharply and oddly; and Lily afterward recalled the strangeness of this look. Ada’s eyes, usually placid, were wide and lustrous; her colour was high, and she seemed excited. “Have you done anything to get out of being practically almost engaged to any of them?” she whispered, leaning close. “If you haven’t, you don’t need to worry anyhow, Lily.” She spoke hurriedly, all in a breath, then kissed Lily’s cheek quickly and whispered, “I’m sorry!” She ran out into the crowded hallway, drawing her cloak about her as she ran. “Why, what in the world——” Lily began, but Ada was already out of hearing, and disappeared immediately among the homeward-bound dancers near the outer doors. Lily followed, but could catch not even a glimpse of her, though she found an opportunity to say good-night—again—to Mr. Gleason, who was departing. “Good-night, but never good-bye, I hope,” he said, with a fervour somewhat preoccupied. “You’ve been _beautiful_ to me. I hope you’ll always be my friend.” And with the air of a person pressed for time, he touched her hand briefly and passed on. Lily attributed his haste to the approach of her mother, who was ponderously bearing down upon them; but this interpretation may have been a mistaken one. Mr. Gleason had much on his mind at the moment, and Mrs. Dodge carefully withheld herself from joining her daughter until he had gone. . . . Mr. Dodge had not retired to bed; he was smoking in the library when the two ladies of his household returned from their merrymaking. Lily kissed him enthusiastically, while his wife stood by, pure granite. “You’ve had a jolly evening, Lily?” “Beautiful!” she said. “Oh, simply magnificent!” And she ran upstairs to bed.