"Well, she's dazzling."

Leila flamed. "I don't see how you can like--her kind----"

"Little lady," he admonished, "you're jealous. I danced four dances
with her, and only one with your new pink slippers."

She stuck out a small foot. "They're lovely, Barry," she said,
repentantly, "and I haven't thanked you."

"Why should you? Just look pleasant, please. I've had enough scolding
for one day."

"Who scolded?"

"Mary."

Leila glanced into the dining-room, where, in her slim fairness, Mary
was like a pale lily, among all the tulip women, and poppy women, and
orchid women, and night-shade women of the social garden.

"If Mary scolded you, you deserved it," she said, loyally.

"You too? Leila, if you don't stick to me, I might as well give up."

His face was moody, brooding. She forgot the Delilah-dancer of the
afternoon, forgot everything except that this wonderful man-creature
was in trouble.

"Barry," she said, simply, like a child, "I'll stick to you until