“Ought to, after starting the conflagration,” said Ted.  “I’ll attend to the general explanations.  You go to Ruth.”

More than one person had wondered at the mysterious disappearance of the two Holidays.  It is quite usual, and far from unexpected, when two young persons of the opposite sex drift off somewhere under the stars on a summer night without giving any particular account of themselves; but one scarcely looks for that sort of social—­or unsocial—­eccentricity from two youths, especially two brothers.  Nobody but Ruth and Tony, and possibly shrewd-eyed Sue, suspected a quarrel, but everybody was curious and ready to burst into interrogation upon the simultaneous return of the two young men which was quite as sudden as their vanishing had been.

“Larry and I had a wager up,” announced Ted to Sue in a perfectly clear, distinct voice which carried across the length of the small hall now that the music was silent.  “He said he could paddle down to the point, current against him, faster than I could paddle back, current with me.  We took a notion to try it out tonight.  Please forgive us, Susanna, my dear.  A Holiday is a creature of impulse you know.”

Sue made a little face at the speaker.  She was quite sure he was lying about the wager, but she was a good hostess and played up to his game.

“You don’t deserve to be forgiven, either of you,” she sniffed.  “Especially Larry who never comes to parties and when he does has to go off and do a silly thing like that.  Who won though?  I will ask that.”  She smiled at Ted and he grinned back.

“Larry, of course.  Give me a dance, Sue.  I’ve got my second wind.”

“Bless Ted!” thought Tony, listening to her brother’s glib excuses.  “Thank goodness he can lie like that.  Larry never could.”  And as her eyes met Ted’s a moment later when they passed each other in the maze of dancers he murmured “All right” in her ear and she was well content.  Bless Ted, indeed!

Meanwhile Larry had gone, as Ted bade him, straight to Ruth.  He bent over her tired little white face, an agony of remorse in his own.

“Ruth, forgive me.  I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Don’t, Larry.  It is I who ought to be sorry and I am—­oh so sorry—­you don’t know.  Ted didn’t mean any harm.  I ought not to have let him do it.  It was my fault.”

“There was nobody at fault except me and my fool temper.  I am desperately ashamed of myself Ruth.  I’ve left you all alone all this time and I promised I wouldn’t.  You’ll never trust me again and I don’t deserve to be trusted.  It doesn’t do any good to say I am sorry.  It can’t undo what I did.  I didn’t dare stay and that’s the fact.  I didn’t know what I’d do to Ted if he got in my way.  I felt—­murderous.”

“Larry!”

“I know it sounds awful.  It is awful.  It is an old battle.  I thought I’d won it, but I haven’t.  Don’t look so scared though.  Nothing happened.  Ted came after me like the corking big-hearted kid he is and brought me to, in half the time I could have done it for myself.  It is thanks to him I’m here now.  But never mind that.  It is only you that matters.  Shall I take you home?  I don’t deserve it, but if you will let me it will show you forgive me a little bit anyway,” he finished humbly.