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 my presence at that dance was under a sort of sporting condition; and I couldn't forget how this girl, herself, had held on to my wrist, warning me and keeping me out of trouble.

I actually owed something to her; but that wasn't what I was thinking of, as I followed her. I was watching what a wallop she was as she went down the boulevard; much the neatest one in sight. She was rather small, I've said; and trim; wonderfully turned, she was, and dressed in plain, tailored things which always look the best, I think. I almost collided with a couple of my friends—girls—from up the Drive and around on Astor. We nearly crashed because they were looking, too. Everybody was gazing, at least a bit, at Miss Wellington; yet she wasn't endeavoring at all to attract attention. Quite the opposite. She simply couldn't help it.

She had me heeling her, therefore, without the least actual idea of handing her over to any one; but also without any intention of letting her go. For here I'd found her, after all that world of Jerry's and of the Flamingo Feather had vanished into air.

I began to understand that of course they hadn't really vanished. They'd been about—those queens and ladies, those sailors, pirates and