for this dance.

"Pardon f' keep' wait," he muttered, as she rose brightly to meet him;
and she seemed pleased that he came at all--but George was used to
girls' looking radiant when he danced with them, and she had little
effect upon him. He danced with her perfunctorily, thinking the while
of Mr. Eugene Morgan and his daughter. Strangely enough, his thoughts
dwelt more upon the father than the daughter, though George could not
possibly have given a reason--even to himself--for this disturbing
preponderance.

By a coincidence, though not an odd one, the thoughts and conversation
of Mr. Eugene Morgan at this very time were concerned with George
Amberson Minafer, rather casually, it is true. Mr. Morgan had retired
to a room set apart for smoking, on the second floor, and had found a
grizzled gentleman lounging in solitary possession.

"'Gene Morgan!" this person exclaimed, rising with great heartiness.
"I'd heard you were in town--I don't believe you know me!"

"Yes, I do, Fred Kinney!" Mr. Morgan returned with equal
friendliness. "Your real face-the one I used to know--it's just
underneath the one you're masquerading in to-night. You ought to have
changed it more if you wanted a disguise."

"Twenty years!" said Mr. Kinney. "It makes some difference in faces,
but more in behaviour!"

"It does sot" his friend agreed with explosive emphasis. "My own
behaviour began to be different about that long ago--quite suddenly."