loveliness of the soft, white throat and slenderly rounded arms.
Anyway he stayed. And when the strain of waltz music sounded through
the chatter of voices about them and young couples began to stroll
to the long parlors, Billy jumped to his feet with a devastating
desire that totally ignored the interminable wanderings of Clara
Eversham's complaints.

"Will you dance this with me?" he besought of Miss Arlee Beecher,
with a direct gaze more boyishly eager than he knew.

For an agonizing moment she hesitated. Then, "I think I will," she
concluded, with sudden roguery in her smile.

Stammering a farewell to the Evershams, he bore her off.

It would be useless to describe that waltz. It was one of the
ecstatic moments which Young Joy sometimes tosses from her garlanded
arms. It was one of the sudden, vivid, unforgettable delights which
makes youth a fever and a desire. For Billy it was the wildest stab
the sex had ever dealt him. For though this was perhaps the nine
thousand nine hundred and ninety-ninth girl with whom he had danced,
it was as if he had discovered music and motion and girls for the
first time.

The music left them by the windows.

"Thank you," said Billy under his breath.

"You didn't deserve it," said the girl, with a faint smile playing
about the corners of her lips. "You know you stared--scandalously."