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 They sampled another dance shop but with only deeper dissatisfaction for Lew. It was early—too early, because Lew had not been willing to wait dinner too long. Besides, no public dance shop suited Lew's mood after his meal. He preferred a place to-night where he would be more in control of conditions, as at a party—Slengel's party, for choice, where at his appearance everything would be speeded to his mood, whatever the hour. Art had not called it off; Art had insisted on expecting him.

Lew did not name or describe to Ellen their destination. "There's a private party in here," he said, escorting her.

Mr. Slengel had obtained, for his temporary uses, a large, luxuriously furnished apartment. A single, great room was its distinguishing feature. This was high in the ceiling, as tall as two floors; doors opened from the big room at the lower level, communicating to a small den, a dressing-room, a bedroom and a kitchen. A stairway was an architectural feature, leading up one side of the room to a broad balcony running the entire width of the big room and from this opened other doors to chambers on the second floor level.

Ellen, entering with Lew, saw only the big room and its company. The orchestra was not playing so the center of the room was clear, its ordinary furniture—chairs, couches, tables and piano—pushed to the edges.—The piano was under the balcony and about it clustered the band—saxophone, trombone, violin and drum. The company clustered about a tray of bottles and glasses and ice on a big table; others, by couples, sat on the stairs. Some leaped up, as the drum beat and