"Right-o," replied Blair, with evident relief. He reached a hand to
Lane to raise himself, an action he rarely resorted to, and awkwardly
got his crutch in place. They started out, with Lane accommodating his
pace to his crippled comrade. Thus it happened that the two ran a
gauntlet with watching young people on each side, out to the open part
of the hall. There directly in front they encountered Captain Vane
Thesel, with Helen Wrapp on his arm. Her red hair, her green eyes, and
carmined lips, the white of her voluptuous neck and arms, united in a
singular effect of allurement that Lane felt with scorn and
melancholy.

Helen nodded to Blair and Lane, and evidently dragged at her escort's
arm to hold him from passing on.

"Look who's here! Daren, old boy--and Blair," she called, and she
held the officer back. The malice in her green glance did not escape
Lane, as he bowed to her. She gloried in that situation. Captain
Thesel had to face them.

It was Blair's hand that stiffened Lane. They halted, erect, like
statues, with eyes that failed to see Thesel. He did not exist for
them. With a flush of annoyance he spoke, and breaking from Helen,
passed on. A sudden silence in the groups nearby gave evidence that
the incident had been observed. Then whispers rose.

"Boys, aren't you dancing?" asked Helen, with a mocking sweetness.
"Let me teach you the new steps."

"Thanks, Helen," replied Lane, in sudden weariness. "But I couldn't go
it."