laughing still as he whirled her in among the dancers, refusing to
give her any breathing-space.

"I want to see a little colour in those cheeks of yours,
Cherry-ripe," he said. "What's the Ingleton dragon been doin' to
you, my pretty?"

She danced with him with a feeling that the net was drawn close
about her, and she was powerless to struggle any longer. When he
suffered her to stand at last, her head was whirling so that she
had to cling to him for support.

He led her to a secluded corner and put her into a chair. Then he
bent over her and spoke into her ear. "Look here! I'm not such a
bad sort. They've coupled our names together in the local rag.
Why not let 'em?"

She looked up at him, summoning her strength with a great effort.
"So it was your doing!" she said.

"No, it wasn't!" he declared. "I swear it wasn't! I'm not such a
fool as that. But see here, Sylvia! Where's the use of holdin'
out any longer? You know I want you, and there's no sense in goin'
on pinin' for a fellow in South Africa who's probably married a
dozen blacks already. It isn't like you to cry for the moon. Put
up with me instead! You might do worse, and anyone can see you're
havin' a dog's time at the Manor now. You'll be your own boss
anyway if you come to me."

She heard him with her eyes fixed before her. Her brief energy had