"Not much. You don't think I'd let him be such a pig if I could help
him, do you?"

"Are they all kin?"

"Yes--" Stuart laughed. "Some of it gets pretty thin in the second and
third cousin lines. But it's thick enough for him to get a kiss from
every one--confound him!"

The hall was crowding rapidly. The rustle of silk, the flash of pearls
and diamonds, the hum of soft drawling voices filled the perfumed air.

Phil's eyes were dazzled with the bevies of the younger set, from
sixteen to eighteen, dressed in soft tulle and organdy; slow of speech;
their voices low, musical, delicious. He was introduced to so many his
head began to swim. To save his soul he couldn't pick out one more
entrancing than another. The moment they spied his West Point uniform he
was fair game. They made eyes at him. They languished and pretended to
be smitten at first sight. Twice he caught himself about to believe one
of them. They seemed so sincere, so dreadfully in earnest. And then he
caught the faintest twinkle in the corner of a dark eye and blushed to
think himself such a fool.

But the sensation of being lionized was delightful. He was in a whirl
of foolish joy when he suddenly realized that Stuart had deserted him,
slipped through the crowd and found his way to Mary Lee. He threw a
quick glance at the pair and one of the four beauties hovering around
him began to whisper:

"Jeb Stuart's just crazy about Mary--"