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His heart missed a beat, as he caught something in her tone that he had never heard there before.

He must have shown his perception of it, for he saw a rosy blush beneath the edge of her little mask, and he hastened to say, “No, it doesn’t matter that they’re mock jewels—for they’re mock people.”

“Yes,” she said, softly, “all but you and me.”

Locke was nonplussed. He didn’t know whether Pearl Jane was trying to make love to him, or whether the gayety of the occasion had gone to her head a little. He decided on the latter opinion, and steered the talk into a safer channel.

And yet, he couldn’t help thinking, she was very sweet, the soft little chin that nestled against his shoulder, the curve of the cheek that still showed pink, and most of all the bright happy eyes that now and then met his through the eyeholes of their masks.

Clearly, he decided, I’d better get away from her. She’ll enchant me in another minute—and that won’t do. Little Pearl Jane! Waking up! Oh, Lord!

So, with a graceful bow, he handed her to a waiting and eager Clown, and sauntered off himself to do a duty dance with Kate.

Not but that he liked Kate Vallon, but after all, Locke was not overly fond of dancing, and he had a dim idea of retreating to the smoking room as soon as might be.

“Buck up,” said Kate, after a few rounds, “you’re a good dancer, Tommy, but you have no soul in it.”

“I’d rather paint,” Locke returned. “Wouldn’t you, Kate?”

“Yes, I would. I’d rather do lots of things. But we’re a few years older than Pearl Jane, or Henry, either. How old are you, Tommy?”

“Twenty-eight; why?”