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 It found Jock with his arms about Cecily Graves, and Yvonne, a few steps away, watching.

"I'm a little bit 'ntox'cated," said Cecily Graves.

"I know it," said Jock.

He righted the chair and lowered her into it. Across the table Perry Loomis slumped in his seat, motionless and unseeing. His one burst of animation had been succeeded by a coma from which it would obviously be difficult to rouse him. "Just as well," Jock grunted.

He caught up with Yvonne and elucidated. "Girl I met once at a prom at college. Friend of Dopey Lane's—you've heard me speak of him. Nice little kid, good family—she hasn't any business here with a rotter like that Loomis. He's passed out now, anyway. Let's take her back to your dressing room, shall we? I feel sort of responsible"

"Of course!" agreed Yvonne.

She led the way, and Jock followed with Cecily, steering a careful course between the tablefuls of lunatic merrymakers. His face as he went was firmset and bothered. He had never spoken more truly than when he told Yvonne that he felt "sort of responsible." Cecily, in this condition, stabbed his conscience. "Oh, good Lord!" he moaned mentally. "I bet I did this! I started it, anyhow, I know that. And she's taken all my advice and then gone to the other extreme!"

Yvonne's dressing room was a cubbyhole containing a table messy with cosmetics, a huge mirror framed