"I am glad," she murmured.

He handed her back the card with the orthodox smile and bow of
gratitude, but there was something more in his eyes.

"Is that what you did it for?" he inquired.

"Of course," with a glance half coquettish, half humble.

She took the card and allowed it to drop pendent from her fan
without looking at it. He had written nothing on it. This was all
a form. The dances that were his had been inscribed on the
engagement-card long before by smaller fingers than his.

She turned to take her attendant partner's arm with a little flaunt-
-a little movement of the hips to bring her dress, and possibly
herself, more prominently beneath Jack Meredith's notice. His eyes
followed her with that incomparably pleasant society smile which he
had no doubt inherited from his father. Then he turned and mingled
with the well-dressed throng, bowing where he ought to bow--asking
with fervour for dances in plain but influential quarters where
dances were to be easily obtained.

And all the while his father and Lady Cantourne watched.

"Yes, I THINK," the lady was saying, "that that is the favoured
one."

"I fear so."