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FLAMING YOUTH

“What's doing to-night?" was her first —

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hs.

after their greetings. “Dinner-dance at the Vaughns’.” “Everybody going to be there?”

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“All that are on hand. Some of the party aren't here yet.” “Who's back of my crowd?"

“Selden Thorpe, Billy Grant, Monty Standish; he was

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asking to-day about you.”

“That stiff!" commented Pat, doing a pirouette,

“Ne

more pep than a jumping-jack.” “Neither would you have if you'd been brought up in a

bandbox.

But he’s begun to lift the lid and look around.

And he’s a winner to look at.” “Maybe

Pll have

a shot at him.

Dee, I'm out for

trouble this trip. Ive been being good so long it hurts.” “You look it; the trouble-hunting, I mean,” commented the elder, appraising her maid-of-honour. “They ought te put a danger signal over you, Pat. Where do you get the stuff that you work on the men? Your features are nothing to hire out to an artist, you know. And yet-———”* Pat laughed delightedly. “Arent they? Well, you

and Con have got enough cold and haughty beauty for the family. Being a bride is becoming to you, Dee. You look stunning.” Indeed, Dee’s clean-cut, attractive

to have taken on a new quality.

athleticism seemed

Her eyes had grown

more brilliant; there was a higher glow of colour in the © clear skin; but a more analytical observer than Pat might have discerned in the httle, straightening lines at the corners of the firm, sweet mouth, a conscious effort at nervous control. “Oh, Pm all right,” said she, carelessly. “When's Cissie

coming?”