In the same moment Stella rose. She was smiling, and there was a red
flush in her cheeks. She took her fan from the table.

"And now," she said, "I am going to dance--all night long. Every officer
in the mess--save one--has asked me for a dance."

He was on his feet in an instant. He had checked one impulse, but even
to his endurance there were limits. He spoke as one goaded.

"Will you give me one?"

She looked him squarely in the eyes. "No, Captain Monck."

His dark face looked suddenly stubborn. "I don't often dance," he said.
"I wasn't going to dance to-night. But--I will have one--I must have
one--with you."

"Why?" Her question fell with a crystal clearness. There was something
of crystal hardness in her eyes.

But the man was undaunted. "Because you have wronged me, and you owe me
reparation."

"I--have wronged--you!" She spoke the words slowly, still looking him in
the eyes.

He made an abrupt gesture as of holding back some inner force that
strongly urged him. "I am not one of your persecutors," he said. "I have
never in my life presumed to judge you--far less condemn you."