“Well, think now!” he went on.  “Tell me—­how about that?”

“About what?”

“Ah, you know what I mean,” young Haight replied, feeling like a little boy, “about what you said at your house that Sunday night.  Please tell me; you don’t know how much it means to me.”

“Oh, there’s Delphine at the door!” suddenly exclaimed Turner.  “Now, really, I must go down.  She doesn’t know where to go; she’s so stupid!”

“No,” he answered, “not until you tell me!” He caught her hand, refusing to let it go.

“Ah, how mean you are to corner me so!” she cried laughing and embarrassed.  “Must I—­well—­I know I shouldn’t. O-oh, I just detest you!” Young Haight turned her hand palm upward and kissed the little circle of crumpled flesh that showed where her glove buttoned.  Then she tore her hand away and ran downstairs, while he followed more slowly.

On her way back to the dressing-room she met him again, crossing the hall.

“Don’t you want to see me home?” she said.

“Do I want to?” shouted young Haight.

“Oh, but I forgot,” she cried.  “You can’t.  I won’t let you.  You have your other dances engaged!”

“Oh, damn the other dances!” he exclaimed, but instead of being offended, Turner only smiled.

Toward one o’clock there was a general movement to go.  Henrietta Vance and Mrs. Vance were inquired for, and the blue and white opera cloaks reappeared, descending the stairs, disturbing the couples who were seated there.  The banging of carriage doors and the rumble of wheels recommenced in the street.  The musicians played a little longer.  As the party thinned out, there was greater dance room and a consequent greater pleasure in dancing.  These last dances at the end of the evening were enjoyed more than all the others.  But the party was breaking up fast:  Turner had already gone home; Mrs. Vance and Henrietta were back at their places in front of the mantel, surrounded by a group of gentlemen in capecoats and ladies in opera wraps.  Every one was crying “Good-bye” or “Good night!” and assuring Mrs. Vance and Henrietta of the enjoyableness of the occasion.  Suddenly the musicians played “Home Sweet Home.”  Those still dancing uttered an exclamation of regret, but continued waltzing to this air the same as ever.  Some began to dance again in their overcoats and opera wraps.  Then at last the tired musicians stopped and reached for the cases of their instruments, and the remaining guests, seized with a sudden panic lest they should be the last to leave, fled to the dressing-rooms.  These were in the greatest confusion, every one was in a hurry; in the gentlemen’s dressing-room there was a great putting on of coats and mufflers and a searching for misplaced gloves, hats and canes.  A base hum of talk rose in the air, bits and ends of conversation being tossed back and forth across the room. “You haven’t seen my