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FLAMING

YOUTH

possible at the reception. When she saw him, later, quite forgetful of her in his interest in Virginia Platt, a slight, flashing brunette ‘of the wedding party, she was both chilled and infuriated.

He did not even ask her to dance,

though once he crossed the floor toward her, only to turn aside at the last, hopeful moment. It was terrible to be young and queer looking, though she had done her careful best for her elfish little face and immature figure. Others came for dances, however; Selden Thorpe, the

rector’s son, the most often. Him she deemed “interesting looking,” with his pale face, bristly hair, and hard, grey eyes, typical of the unconscious egotist. Though he danced well, here Pat could overmatch him, for she had

the passion of rhythmic movement in her blood. “You’ve got the fairy foot all right, little one,” said he, investing the epithet with his conscious sophomoric superiority.

Pat felt offended. She wanted so Sach to be grown-up that evening. But she feared to alienate her escort’s budding interest if she showed any resentment. “Anyone can dance with as good a dancer as you are,”

she replied sweetly. He gave her an appreciative glance.

“Can they?

I

guess we could enter for a prize all right.” “We

could make some of ’em hustle to beat us,” she

declared gaily. “Could you make a getaway some evening, and eed slip over and try it out at one of the big places?” “Would you take me?” she cried, delighted. But her face fell. ‘There won’t be time. I’m going back to school.” The talk languished after this disappointment. The number was over and they were seated in a remote corner