She moved away, the flattered "Monty" in her wake. Mr. Hungerford gazed after them. He appeared not altogether pleased.

"Very sociable, chatty chap, that friend of yours, I should judge,"

observed Captain Dan drily.

"Um-hm!" grunted Cousin Percy. "Been chatting to you, has he?"

"No-o, not much this time. But you remember I've had the pleasure before."

Mr. Hungerford doubtless remembered; he looked as if he did. Then he, too, strolled away. The captain, left alone, indulged in a quiet chuckle.

Miss Canby's rendition on the piano, of what she was pleased to call "A sweet little thing of Tschaikovsky's--one of my favorites," was enthusiastically applauded, and she obliged with another, and still another. Then Mr. Abercrombie was prevailed upon to read one of his own outpourings of genius, a poem called "The Tigress," in which someone, presumably the author, described the torments involved in his adoration of a feminine person with "jetty brows and lambent eyes," whose kiss was like "a viper's sting" and who had, so to speak, raised the very d.i.c.kens with his feelings. He read it with pa.s.sionate fervor, and Captain Dan, listening, decided that the Tigress must be a most unpleasant person.

However, judging by the acclaim of the rest of the audience, she was a huge success, and the poet was coaxed into reading again, this time something which he had labeled "Soul Beams," and in which "love" rhymed with "dove" and "heart" with "dart" and "bliss" with "kiss" in truly orthodox fashion. Mr. Abercrombie's poetic gems were not appreciated by the mercenary and groveling minions who edited magazines, but here, amid his fellow Bohemians, they were more than appreciated, a fact which their creator announced gratified him more than he could express.

And yet, he seemed to have little difficulty and less hesitation in expressing most things.

Daniel was not enthusiastic over the poems. He could not understand a great deal of them, but he understood quite enough. When B. Phelps Black winked at him from his seat at the other side of the room, he did not return the wink, although he knew perfectly well what it meant.

The poems were bad enough, according to his figuring, but when Miss Beatrice Dusante tripped into the circle to slip and twist and slide and gyrate in "one of her delightful Grecian dances," he found himself looking about for a convenient exit. Discovering none he remained where he was and blushed for the company.

The Bohemians, however, did not blush; neither, to his amazement, did Serena, who looked on and applauded with the rest. He found some comfort in the absence of his daughter, who was not among the seated guests, but, at last, even this comfort was dispelled. He caught a glimpse of Gertrude, still accompanied by the attentive Mr. Holway, standing in the back row. He tried to catch her eye and, by frowns and shakes of the head, to indicate his disapproval of the dance and her presence as a witness. He did not succeed in attracting her attention, but when, a moment later, she and her escort moved off, he was somewhat relieved.

Gertrude looked as if she did not care for Miss Dusante's dancing any more than he did. Mr. Hungerford, also, did not appear interested. He was looking at Miss Dott and "Monty," and there was a frown on his face.

Upon their return, after they were together in the library at home, Daniel's shocked indignation burst forth.

"Well!" he declared, "that's enough. That's the limit, that is! What kind of a gang IS that, anyway?"

His wife regarded him with astonishment. Gertrude, after one glance at his face, turned and walked to the other side of the room, where she busied herself with a book on the table. Cousin Percy smiled broadly.

"Gang!" repeated Serena. "Gang! Why, what are you talking about, Daniel?"

"I'm talkin' about that gang at that Canby woman's place to-night.

I never saw such a brazen gang anywhere. Haven't they got ANY respectability? How'd they come to let that dancin' thing in there?

Couldn't they see her before she got in? Couldn't they stop her? Why--"

Serena interrupted. "Stop her!" she repeated. "How could they stop her?

She was an invited guest."

"Who invited her? That's what I want to know. Who invited her?"

"Miss Canby, I suppose. She is a friend of hers."

"A friend! A FRIEND!"

"Yes. Now, Daniel, don't be silly. I know what you mean, and I must say I sympathize with you just a little. Annette explained to me afterwards though, so I suppose it is all right. Annette says that this Miss Dusante's dancing is all the rage now. She has made a study of the ancient Grecian dances and she does them everywhere. She is paid high prices for it, too."

"I don't doubt it. I should think she'd want to be. Did you see the way she was dressed? I never--"

"Hush, Daniel! That was the old Greek costume. Miss Canby told me all about it; the old Greeks used to dress like that."

"They did! Then it didn't take 'em long. Brazen thing! Why!" with a sudden turn upon his daughter, "Gertie--Gertie Dott, stop fussin' with that book and listen to me. You were there; I saw you lookin' on. YOU didn't like that Greek dancin', did you?"

Gertrude hesitated. Her cheeks were red and, for a moment, she seemed to find it difficult to speak. Then, after a quick look at her mother, she answered, calmly:

"Like it! Why not, Daddy? It is all the rage, just as Mother says, and it is certainly graceful. I rather think I should like to learn it myself. I understand Miss Dusante gives lessons."

Daniel's mouth opened and remained open. Cousin Percy stared at the speaker. Even Serena, defender of the dances of the ancient Greeks, looked shocked.

"Why, Gertie!" she cried. "Gertie! You! the idea!"

"Why not, Mother?"

"Why not! I should think you would know why not. I never heard you speak like that before."

"I never saw any dances like those before. I have heard about them, of course, but I never saw them. We never did--you or father or any of us--a great many things that we are doing now. We are learning all the time; that's what you told me, Mother. I never went to a Bohemian 'At Home' before."

Serena's eyes snapped. "Well, you'll never go to another one," she declared, "if it's going to have this effect on you."

The young lady smiled. "Why, of course I shall," she cried. "I want to learn, just as you do, Mother. And I mean to. Good-night!"

She left the room and they heard her ascending the stairs. Daniel and Serena looked at each other. Cousin Percy looked at them both.

Captain and Mrs. Dott had a long talk before retiring. The captain derived some satisfaction from the talk; it seemed to him that their daughter's declaration of independence had startled Serena somewhat. She even went so far as to admit that, in spite of Mrs. Black's explanations and gracious commendations, she, herself, had not been impressed by Miss Canby's guests. She and Gertrude would have an interview in the morning, she declared.

Captain Dan waited hopefully for the result of that interview. The hope was crushed when Serena reported to him.

"It is all right, Daniel," said Mrs. Dott. "I guess Gertie didn't really mean what she said about taking lessons of the Dusante woman.

She thought the dances graceful, and they were, of course. But Gertie is older now--yes, she is older, and she expects to have her own way more than she has had it. She said a lot of things to me, things that she hasn't said before. It seems that when she first came home she was inclined to think I had exaggerated when I wrote her about the lovely people here in Scarford, and the Chapter, and the brilliant women in it.

Now, she sees I was right. She has helped me a good deal already with my Chapter work, and she means to do more. She is going to join the Chapter herself. She--why, what's the matter?"

Daniel had made a choking noise in his throat; he appeared to be strangling.

"Noth--nothin'," he gasped. "Nothin' much. I'm all right. But--but you said--why, how can Gertie join the Chapter? She ain't goin' to stay here. She's goin' back to college soon as her vacation's over."

Serena shook her head. There was just a shade of doubt, almost of trouble, in her voice as she answered.

"No-o," she said, "no, Daniel, she isn't. She isn't going back any more.

She thinks it isn't necessary."

"Not necessary! Why, how you talk, Serena! Not necessary to finish out her last term! What do you mean? One of the things that troubled me most, back there in Trumet before we was rich, was that I might not afford for her to finish out at that college, and now, when I can, she ain't goin'. I say she is. I say she's got to."

"I don't believe that will make any difference, Daniel. She seems to have made up her mind. I'm kind of sorry, I must say, but she is obstinate. She says it is so much more interesting here that she is going to stay. You can talk to her, if you want to, but I don't think it will do any good."

Serena was right; although Captain Dan did talk to his daughter his arguments and persuasions were quite useless.

"No, Daddy," said Gertrude, "I am going to stay right here. I told you that if I were needed I should come home. I have come home and I am needed. I shall not go back. It is only the last half term, anyway."

"Yes, but then's when the girls have all their best times, all the dances and--and entertainments and society times. You said so. Do you want to miss all those?"

Gertrude smiled. "Oh," she observed, "I expect to have a great many 'society times,' as you call them, right here in Scarford. There seems to be no lack of them, and Mother is decidedly in the swim. It's no use, Daddy; my mind is made up. Don't you worry, it is all right."