It was a simple and informal dance, as befitted the ages of the guests,
but Mr. and Mrs. Littell knew to perfection the secret of making each one
enjoy himself. There were a handful of outside friends invited, and
Betty, to whom a party was a never-failing source of delight, felt, as
she confided to Bob, as though she were "walking on air."

"You look awfully nice in that white stuff," he said frankly, and Betty
liked the comment on her pretty ruffled white frock which she had
dubiously decided a moment before was too plain.

Betty was what country folk call a "natural-born dancer," and she
quickly learned the new steps she had had no opportunity to practice
since going West. All the girls and most of the boys were excellent
dancers, too, and Bob was not allowed to beg off. Frances Martin, the
last girl one would have named, had taught a dancing class in her home
town with great success and she volunteered to lead Bob. To his surprise,
the boy found he liked the music and movement and before the evening was
over he was in a fair way to become a good dancer.

The party broke up promptly at eleven o'clock, and a few minutes later
the whir of the last motor bearing home the departing guests died away.
There was a natural lingering to "talk things over," but by twelve the
house was silent and dark.

Betty had just fairly dozed off when some one woke her by shaking
her gently.

"Betty! Betty, please wake up!" whispered a frightened little voice.