life was: pain crowding elbows with pleasure always--she had read
that somewhere. She was just inevitably living Life.

Consoled a trifle by this reflection and by a certain note of
sublimity in her experience, Missy leaned against the gatepost upon
which a lantern was blinking its last shred of life, and gazed at
the slow-rising, splendid moon.

She was still there when Cousin Jim, walking quickly and his shoes
creaking loudly, returned. "Hello!" he said. "What're you doing out
here?"

"Oh, just watching the moon."

"You're a funny girl," he laughed.

"Why am I funny?" Her tone was a little wistful. "Why, moon-gazing
instead of dancing, and everything."

"But I like to dance too," emphasized Missy, as if to defend herself
against a charge.

"I'll take you up on that. Come straight in and dance the next dance
with me!"

Missy obeyed. And then she knew that she had met the Dancer of the
World. At first she was pleased that her steps fitted his so well,
and then she forgot all about steps and just floated along, on
invisible gauzy wings, unconscious of her will of direction, of his
will of direction. There was nothing in the world but invisible