“Oh, yes,” said Lewis, rising; “I’ll come.  I’ve been a bit lonely since dad went away.”  Then he smiled.  “So I was wrong, after all.”

“Wrong?” said Vi, staring at him, “When, how?”

“This is what you really came for—­to ask me to see you dance,” he said, laughing.

“Oh, was it?” said Vi.  “I’m always wondering why I do things.  Well, I suppose I’d better go, but I hate to.  I’ve been so comfy here.  If you’d only press me, I might stay for dinner.”

Lewis shook his head.

“Better not.”

“Why?”

“Well, you’re married, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Vi, grimly, her eyes narrowing.

“Well,” said Lewis, “you’ve heard dad talk.  He says marriage is just an insurance policy to the mind of woman.”

“Yes,” said Vi, “and that the best place to keep it is away from the fire.  Your dad’s insight is simply weird.  But if you think you’re going to start on life where he left off, let me tell you you’ll be chewing a worn-out cud.”

Lewis laughed.

“You would be right if I were to live life over on his lines.  But I won’t.  He doesn’t want me to.  He never said so, but I just know.”

Vi shrugged her shoulders.

“You have a lot of sense,” she said.  “There’s nothing women dislike more.  Good-by.”  She held out her hand and stepped toward him.  She seemed to misjudge the distance and half lose her balance.  The full length of her quivering body came up against Lewis.  He felt her hot, sweet breath almost on his mouth.  He flushed.  His arms started up from his sides and then dropped again.

“Touch and go!” he gasped.

“Which?” drawled Vi, her mouth almost on his, her wide, gray eyes so near that he closed his to save himself from blindness.

“Better make it ‘go,’” said Lewis, and grinned.

“You’ve saved yourself,” said Vi, with a laugh.  “If you hadn’t grinned, I’d have kissed you.”

CHAPTER XXIX

Lewis went to the Ruttle-Marter ball determined to be gay.  He searched for Vi, but did not find her.  By twelve o’clock he had to admit that he was more than bored, and said so to a neighbor.

“That’s impossible,” said the neighbor, yawning.  “Boredom is an ultimate.  There’s nothing beyond it; consequently, you can’t be more than bored.”

“You’re wrong,” said Lady Derl from behind them.  “For a man there’s always something beyond boredom:  there’s going home.”

“Touche,” cried Lewis and then suddenly straightened.  While they had been chatting, the curtain of the improvised stage at one end of the ball-room had gone up.  In the center of the stage stood a figure that Lewis would have recognized at once even if he had not been a participant in the secret.