He knew if he did the inevitable Miss Lee would anchor herself on his
arm for the evening; and his politeness was not equal to the task of
entertaining her.

The strains of music reached him, softened and made sweet by the
distance. He stole down on the piazza, and sat under the shadows of a
flowering vine, looking at the sky, with its myriads of glittering stars.
There was a light step at his side, and glancing up, he saw Margie
Harrison.

She was in evening dress, her white arms and shoulders bare, and
glistening with snowy pearls. Her soft unbound hair fell over her neck
in a flood of light, and a subtle perfume, like the breath of blooming
water-lilies, floated around her.

"I want to make you my captive for a little while, Mr. Trevlyn," she
said, gayly. "Will you wear the chains?"

"Like a garland of roses," he responded. "Yes, to the world's end, Miss
Harrison!"

The unconscious fervor of his voice brought a crimson flush to her face.
She dropped her eyes, and toyed with the bracelet on her arm.

"I did not know _you_ dealt in compliments, Mr. Trevlyn," she said,
a little reproachfully. "I thought you were always sincere."

"And so I am, Miss Harrison."

"I take you at your word then," she said, recovering her playful air.