to use as you chose. Mrs. Beverley told me you were here, and she added
that you had particularly requested not to be introduced to the
Cranfords or their guests. Besides, you know you don't care anything
about dancing."

The chauffeur had placed his other passengers in the tonneau, and was
trying to crank the motor. Blount was thankful that the new Italian
engine was refusing to take the spark. The delay was giving him an added
moment or two.

"No, I don't care much for dancing; and you know very well why I
couldn't, or wouldn't, be anybody's good company to-night," he said.
Then: "It was cruel of you to deny me this last evening by not letting
me know that you were here."

"'This last evening'?" she echoed. "Why 'last'?"

"Because I am leaving Boston and New England to-morrow--or rather,
Monday. It is the only thing to do."

"I am sorry you are taking it this way, Evan," she deprecated, in the
sisterly tone that always made him hotly resentful. "It hurts my sense
of proportion."

"Sometimes I think you haven't any sense of proportion, Patricia," he
retorted half-morosely. "If you have, I am sure it is frightfully
distorted."

The recalcitrant motor had given a few preliminary explosions, and a
white-haired old gentleman in the tonneau was calling impatiently to