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 undoubtedly were sharing it with her, danced on blissfully, smiling and snuggling into their partners' arms as they swayed and whispered intimately. Marjorie gave herself again to Mr. Saltro's clasp; to Mr. Troufrie's; to the arms of the others who besought her, demanding another dance.

They knew she was not of them; or they found it out. Others were there who also were not of them—men, mostly. Indeed, all others of the same caste as Marjorie who were there were men; she picked them out one by one in the moving maze of the floor and discerned them distinguishing her from the other girls; and, realizing what they were there for, she despised them, aware that they even more were despising her. She recognized no one, and, fortunately, no one appeared who recognized her.

"I'm starting home now; gotta work to-morrow," Clara yawningly announced to Marjorie at half-past twelve. "You don't need to come; Jake'll like to stay."

But Marjorie went, and with Clara, so the four were together in the taxi on the ride to Clearedge Street, during which Mr. Troufrie frankly kept Clara in his arms and she, as frankly, kissed him; and so far from minding observation, Mr. Troufrie genially jeered Mr. Saltro for his conspicuous loneliness on his seat.