enthusiastic applause. Jennie became instantly the center of
attraction.

It was Amiel who urged her to sing again, Amiel who seized upon
the banjo and accompanied her triumphantly through a college
song, turning his back squarely upon Dorothea the while.

Dorothea sat up straight, a sudden, bewildering anger at her
heart as she watched them. In the midst of the song she announced
casually that the moon was coming up. No one paid the slightest
attention to her except the calling neighbor, who said "Hush!"

An instant later, the instant that saw Amiel lay a commending and
fraternal hand on Jennie's curls, the Monster struck. Jealousy
had no firmer grip of beak and talons on the Moor of Venice than
on the crop-headed Dorothea. In absolute self- defense she did an
unprecedented and wholly unexpected thing. Without warning she
burst into song, even as Jennie was coyly preparing for an
encore.

"O fair dove, O fond dove.
O dove with the white, white breast,"

shrilled Dorothea to her startled audience. This was the same
song with which Lady Ursula invariably brought blinding, bitter
tears to the eyes of those assembled at picnics and hunt balls.
It had an opposite effect upon Dorothea's auditors. With
apparently one accord they burst into hilarious mirth, comment,
and expostulation.