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 more delay in saying good night to our host and hostess, and it was all of two when we packed into the Dauntless and choo-chooed away. It was the nicest part of the ball to lie back in the cushions and feel that the Marsden moment had arrived. If men get a lot of pleasure in doing things and taking the lead, I guess there's something to be said for the girl's side of it, too—being the lovely prize, you know, and just waiting for the Beautiful Prince to hatchet his way to her. So I rubbed on a little powder in the dark, shut my lovely eyes, and waited and wondered. I didn't know what was coming, of course, and was almost as much bluffed as anybody when the silly engine began to miss—yes, slowed down, and finally stopped in the pitchiest, inkiest, hobgoblinest place on the map, about seven miles from Ydle Wyld and ten from anywhere else!