step, formidable in evening dress and with a smile of subtle triumph in his
eyes, to meet Nancy Slocum in the bright pink gown. Dorothy felt she hated
pink of all the colors her faith had abjured. She could see, in spite of
the obnoxious gown, that Nancy was very pretty. He was taking her first by
the right hand, then by the left, and turning her gayly about; and now they
were meeting again for the fourth or fifth time in the centre of the barn,
with all eyes upon them, and the music lingered while Nancy, holding out
her pink petticoats, coyly revolved around him. Then began a mysterious
turning and clasping of hands, and weaving of Nancy's pink frock and
Evesham's dark blue coat and white breeches in and out of the line of
figures, until they met at the door, and, taking each other by both hands,
swept with a joyous measure to the head of the barn. Dorothy gave a little
choking sigh.

What a senseless whirl it was. She was thrilling with a new and strange
excitement, too near the edge of pain to be long endured as a pleasure.
If this were the influence of dancing she did not wonder so much at her
father's scruples, and yet it held her like a spell.

All hands were lifted now, making an arch through which Evesham, holding
Nancy by the hands, raced, stooping and laughing. As they emerged at the
door, Evesham threw up his head to shake a brown lock back. He looked
flushed and boyishly gay, and his hazel eye searched the darkness with that
subtle ray of triumph in it which made Dorothy afraid. She drew back behind
the tree and pressed her hot cheek to the cool, rough bark. She longed
for the stillness of the starlit meadow, and the dim lane with its faint
perfumes and whispering leaves.

But now suddenly the music stopped and the dance broke up in a tumult of
voices. Dorothy stole backward in the shadow of the tree-trunk, until it