She had evidently been wound and set, and Sandy had unwittingly started the pendulum.

“Have you ever been to Chicago, Mr. Kilday?  No?  It is such a dear place; I simply adore it.  I’m on my way home from there now.  All my men friends begged me to stay; they sent me so many flowers I had to keep them in the bath-tub.  Wasn’t it darling of them?  I just love men.  How long have you been in Clayton, Mr. Kilday?”

He tried to answer coherently, but his thoughts were in eager pursuit of a red rose that flashed in and out among the dancers.

“And you really came over from England by yourself when you were just a small boy?  Weren’t you clever!  But I know the captain and all of them made a great pet of you.  Then you made a walking tour through the States; I heard all about it.  It was just too romantic for any use.  I love adventure.  My two best friends are at the theological seminary.  One’s going to India,—­he’s a blond,—­and one to Africa.  Just between us, I am going with one of them, but I can’t for the life of me make up my mind which.  I don’t know why I am telling you all these things, Mr. Kilday, except that you are so sweet and sympathetic.  You understand, don’t you?”

He assured her that he did with more vehemence than was necessary, for he did not want her to suspect that he had not heard what she said.

“I knew you did.  I knew it the moment I shook hands with you.  I felt that we were drawn to each other.  I am like you; I am just full of magnetism.”

Sandy unconsciously moved slightly away:  he had a sudden uncomfortable realization that he was the only one within the sphere of influence.

After two intermissions he suggested that they go out to the drug-store and get some soda-water.  On the steps they met Annette.

“You old f-fraud,” she whispered to Sandy in passing, “I thought you didn’t like to sit out d-dances.”

He smiled feebly.

“Don’t you mind her teasing,” pouted his partner; “if we like to talk better than to dance, it’s our own affair.”

Sandy wished devoutly that it was somebody else’s.  When they returned, they went back to their old corner.  The chairs, evidently considering them permanent occupants, assumed an air of familiarity which he resented.

“Do you know, you remind me of an old sweetheart of mine,” resumed the voice of his captor, coyly.  “He was the first real lover I ever had.  His eyes were big and pensive, just like yours, and there was always that same look in his face that just made me want to stay with him all the time to keep him from being lonely.  He was awfully fond of me, but he had to go out West to make his fortune, and he married before he got back.”

Sandy sighed, ostensibly in sympathy, but in reality at his own sad fate.  At that moment Prometheus himself would not have envied him his state of mind.  The music set his nerves tingling and the dancers beckoned him on, yet he was bound to his chair, with no relief in view.  At the tenth intermission he suggested soda-water again, after which they returned to their seats.