Bob Hampton of Placer

Moffat did not reply, simply because he could not; he was struck dumb,

gasping for breath, the room whirling around before him, while he

stared at her with dazed, unseeing eyes. His very helplessness to

respond she naturally interpreted as acquiescence.

"It is so good of you, Mr. Moffat, for I realize how you were counting

upon this first dance, were n't you? But Mr. McNeil being here as the

guest of your club, I think it is perfectly beautiful of you to waive

your own rights as president, so as to acknowledge his unexpected

contribution to the joy of our evening." She touched him playfully

with her hand, the other resting lightly upon McNeil's sleeve, her

innocent, happy face upturned to his dazed eyes. "But remember, the

next turn is to be yours, and I shall never forget this act of

chivalry."

It is doubtful if he saw her depart, for the entire room was merely an

indistinct blur. He was too desperately angry even to swear. In this

emergency, Mr. Wynkoop, dimly realizing that something unpleasant had

occurred, sought to attract the attention of his new parishioner along

happier lines.

"How exceedingly strange it is, Mr. Moffat," he ventured, "that beings

otherwise rational, and possessing souls destined for eternity, can

actually appear to extract pleasure from such senseless exercises? I

do not in the least blame Miss Spencer, for she is yet young, and

probably thoughtless about such matters, as the youthful are wont to

be, but I am, indeed, rejoiced to note that you do not dance."

Moffat wheeled upon him, his teeth grinding savagely together. "Shut

up!" he snapped, fiercely, and shaking off the pastor's gently

restraining fingers, shouldered his passage through the crowd toward

the door.