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FLAMING YOUTH

dacities,

A warm puff of wind doused one of the feeble

candles; the other was only sufficient to produce a provocative twilight. A silence significant and languorous, broken only by murmurs and snatches of soft, protesting laughter settled upon the dim room. Even Dee’s nerves of iron responded. Leaning back on her divan to catch a wandering breath of air she felt a man’s hand pressing upon her shoulder, a man’s breath soft upon her neck. With her ready young strength, she pushed back the wooer.

“Not for me,” she said quietly. “Qh, don’t be a prude,” implored a straining whisper. “Everything goes to-night.” She thought it was Harry Mercer’s voice. Evading him she got to her feet, made her way toward the door, and stumbled upon a chaise longue occupied by two close-clasped figures.

“Beg your pardon,” she said nonchalantly; but she was vaguely stirred by all this suggestion, not to disgust, which would have been her normal retroaction, but to a

wistful wonderment. What did they see in it? What was it that she was missing out of life? Was she abnormal? Or just fastidious? Across the room she could discern the sumptuous outlines of Sally Dangerfield’s figure, dark against the background of a flannelled figure. “Why not start something, Sally?” she suggested. The hostess laughed. “It’s starting itself, isn’t it? Haven’t you got your self-starter working? But I guess you're right. Help me find some more lights.” “Why

lights?”

murmured

a sleepy-toned

protestant.

“Tt’s more comfortable as it is.” “Who said ‘comfortable’??? growled another. hotter than ever.” “Wish I were back in the pool,” said a woman.

“It’s