and Dysart realised that she was getting on.

So he sauntered up, breaking through the circle, and reminded Geraldine
of a dance she had not promised him.

She knew she had not promised, but she was quite ready to give it--had
already opened her lips to assent--when a young man, passing, swung
around abruptly as though to speak to her, hesitating as Geraldine's
glance encountered his without recognition.

But, as he started to move on, she suddenly knew him; and at the same
moment Kathleen's admonition rang in her ears. Her own voice drowned it.

"Oh, Duane!" she exclaimed, stretching out her hand across Dysart's line
of advance.

"You _are_ Geraldine Seagrave, are you not?" he asked smilingly,
retaining her hand in such a manner as practically to compel her to step
past Dysart toward him.

"Of course I am. You might have known me had you been amiable enough to
appear at my coming out."

He laughed easily, still retaining her hand and looking down at her from
his inch or two of advantage. Then he casually inspected Dysart, who,
not at all pleased, returned his gaze with a careless unconcern verging
on offence. Few men cared for Dysart on first inspection--or on later
acquaintance; Mallett was no exception.

Geraldine said, with smiling constraint: