Mr. Brown laughed.

"Oh, say!" he chortled, "you ARE funny when you hand out that
highfalutin stuff!"

No; he surely hadn't meant admiration for her savoir-faire; yet, for
some reason, Missy didn't feel disappointed. She blushed, and found
it entrancingly difficult to lift her eyelids.

The function, rather stiffly and quite impressively, continued its
way without further contretemps. It was, according to the most
aristocratic standards, highly successful. To be sure, after the
guests had filed solemnly from the table and began to dance on the
porches, something of the empressement died away; but Missy was
finding Mr. Brown too good a dancer to remember to be critical. She
forgot altogether, now, to compare him with the admired Archibald.

Missy danced with Mr. Brown so much that Raymond Bonner grew openly
sulky. Missy liked Raymond, and she was sure she would never want to
do anything unkind--yet why, at the obvious ill temper of Raymond
Bonner, did she feel a strange little delicious thrill?

Oh, she was having a glorious time!

Once she ran across father, lurking unobtrusively in a shadowed
corner.

"Well," he remarked, "I see that Missy's come back for a breathing-
spell."