THE ceremony of the Knights of the Round Table had proved more serious in character than the Girl Scouts had anticipated. Margaret Hale’s dance, which occurred the evening following Christmas, came as a pleasant contrast.

Her home was a large modern one with drawing-rooms opening into each other. About fifty guests were invited, the entire Troop of Girl Scouts of the Eagle’s Wing, the Boy Scouts, who were personal friends of Margaret and her younger sisters, and a few outside friends.

The dance was called “a small and early.” The guests were invited from eight until twelve. The fashion of arriving late and remaining until toward morning did not meet with the approval of the host and hostess.

To assist in making a success of this idea, Margaret’s own Patrol of Scouts had promised to arrive promptly.

Mr. Fenton was to escort Tory to the dance, and had promised to stay for an hour as a spectator.

Donald McClain had asked Tory to go with him, explaining that his sister Dorothy was to be escorted by one of their boy friends. Tory had declined. She had experienced some difficulty in inducing her uncle to be present at a dancing party. He had not attended one in twenty years. Moreover, they had promised to drive out to the House in the Woods and bring Miss Frean back with them.

Don seemed hurt, even a little angry, and Tory was puzzled. Later, she concluded that he and Dorothy were both so unhappy over Lance’s disappearance that they were unlike themselves. She was delighted when Dorothy told her afterwards that Don was to take Teresa in her stead. Teresa would be happy and, Tory thought, a better partner.

The eight girls in the Patrol that now included the English girl, Martha Greaves, a temporary substitute for Katherine Moore, had agreed to dress in white with coral-colored ribbons.

Kara had written a rather pathetic little note of refusal to Margaret’s invitation from her hospital in New York. Before the accident that caused her lameness she had loved dancing more than any one of her friends. Now at Christmas time it was particularly hard to feel always resigned and cheerful. Only one fact gave her courage. Tory Drew’s Christmas gift from Mr. Fenton was to be a trip to New York to see her. Recently he had included Dorothy McClain in the invitation. Mr. Fenton and Dr. McClain had been friends since boyhood, and Dorothy appeared in need of a change for the first time in her life.

Among the dancers the eight Girl Scouts of the one Patrol were easily distinguished from the others. Their white gowns with coral ribbons showed plainly among the rainbow-hued toilets of their friends.

The dance was informal and there were no programs. Nevertheless, toward the latter part of the evening Tory Drew was troubled by the fact that it was after ten o’clock and Donald had not asked her for a single dance.

Soon after their arrival they had bowed and smiled to each other over the heads of the dancers and Donald had not appeared angry. Tory had not given this idea any consideration at the time. She had merely thought how handsome and strong Don looked, and what an admirable contrast he and Teresa made.

Don was so tall and fair, with clear blue eyes and fresh skin, and Teresa like a colorful flower with her dusky hair and dark eyes and brilliant rose cheeks. She was small and her figure prettily rounded. Best of all, Teresa had never seemed happier! She wore a small bunch of violets at her waist that Tory recognized as coming from the hotbed that was Don’s especial pride and pleasure. He had brought the violets in from the woods, built the glass house that sheltered them and devoted a certain time each day to their care.

Occasionally Tory had been presented with a small offering of Don’s violets, but never so many as Teresa wore to-night.

In the midst of a dance with one of the Boy Scouts in Don’s Patrol, Tom Oliver, an especial friend of her own, Tory felt confused and annoyed.

How quickly Teresa was able to transfer her liking from one brother to the other! They were not in the least similar in manner or appearance, in spite of being twins, so this excuse could not be offered. Yet undoubtedly Teresa had been especially friendly with Lance McClain during the past summer in Beechwood Forest.

Then Tory’s partner made some remark and she forgot what she had been thinking. It was the merest chance that she was again dancing with Tom Oliver, more than an hour after, when the reflection that Donald had ignored her all evening recurred with especial force. Tory was fond of Don, and sorry.

Toward the close of this same dance, Tom Oliver felt an unexpected touch on his arm. He paused.

“If Tory is willing when you have finished this dance, may I speak to her?” Donald inquired.

Tory nodded, feeling a mingled sense of pleasure and uncertainty.

Why was Don so serious? He had not appeared so an hour, not a half hour before. Had he recently received bad news? Could anything have been heard from Lance?

Tory’s eyes wandered among the dancers until she caught sight of Dorothy McClain, tall and fair and handsome. She looked more cheerful than in some time past, not less so. Therefore whatever information may have come to Don, he had not yet imparted to his sister. It then occurred to Tory that Don might be wishing to tell her first and ask her help.

She was glad when her own dance was finished and Don was found standing at her elbow. “Come on, Tory, please, I want to talk to you and I think I know a halfway quiet place,” he announced, and led the way.

Accustomed to Don’s directness, without thinking of disputing it, Tory slipped out after him, avoiding speaking or catching the eye of any one who might stop them even for a moment.

The quiet spot was a pile of cushions under the bend of the long flight of stairs, partly concealed by palms.

Even after they were comfortably settled Don did not speak immediately.

Accustomed to his slowness, Tory did not ordinarily object, but to-night she was impatient.

“What is it, Don? You have not come near me all evening! Have you had word from Lance that he is not well or that anything has happened to him? Please tell me at once.”

Still for another moment there was no answer, and afterwards Tory was too startled by Don’s answer to reply.

Immediately Don apologized.

“I am sorry, Tory. I ought not to have said such a thing to you or to any one else. So far as I can recall I never made such a hateful speech about Lance in my life. I hope I never will again. But this business of Lance’s behaving like a kid of five or six years old has been too much for me. It is the worst thing that has happened in our family since my mother’s death.

“The rest of us have always suspected Lance was father’s favorite, chiefly because he looks like my mother and has been so delicate. Since Lance cleared out there is no doubt of the matter. Father has grown to look ten years older in these last few weeks. He says he is not going to look for Lance, that when he has had enough he will come home. Just the same, he does not have a moment free from uneasiness. He is crazy to find Lance, and I know he wants you and Dorothy to search for him when you go up to New York for your holiday. Wish I were coming along! Not that I’d waste any time troubling to find Lance. He deserves whatever comes to him. He always was an idiot, but I did not dream such a one as he has proved himself.”

In spite of Don’s almost sullen manner Tory partly understood his state of mind. In the year of their acquaintance, living across the street from each other, and Tory one of his sister’s most intimate friends, she had appreciated many points about Don that most people failed to realize.

He hated to see people unhappy and would make almost any sacrifice to save them from unhappiness, provided he could grasp the cause of their trouble. In any and every illness Lance had suffered during their boyhood, Don had devoted himself to his whims. He had admired Lance’s cleverness, his sense of humor, even his talent for music up to the present. Now he was puzzled and troubled and resentful. If he had not thought Lance as selfish as the rest of the family considered him, now he believed him more so.

“You see, Tory, no one talks or thinks of any one but Lance at our house these days, if father is not around. Dot has nearly made herself ill worrying over him. Now when I have something rather special I want to confide to you and have been trying for the opportunity all evening, you begin by asking about Lance and looking nervous and miserable.

“Lance McClain is under the impression that he has such a talent for music he can’t live any longer without his chance. Maybe he thinks that music can’t live without him. It is the biggest—well, I won’t say what, I ever heard of in my life. I give him about two months more of half-starving to death in New York and he never will want to hear the word music again.”

Tory shook her head.

“No use trying to argue the matter with you, Don. You won’t agree with me, but you are mistaken about Lance.

“Let us not talk about him any more. Please tell me the something ‘rather special’ you intended to tell me. I am dying to hear. And I am awfully glad you have not been angry and avoided me on purpose during the evening.”

Donald’s clear fresh skin colored. He seemed mollified by Tory’s little friendly speech and slightly ashamed of his own unusual attitude.

He admired Tory Drew more than any one of Dorothy’s friends. She might not be so pretty as several of the others; he had no way of knowing, since to him she possessed so much more interest and charm.

He liked her pallor, the red-gold of her hair and her wide, friendly dark eyes. She did not seem to have a trace of self-consciousness like so many other girls. Nor did Don consider that she had half as much vanity as she had the right to reveal. She had seen so much more of the world, traveling abroad with her artist father until her arrival in Westhaven the year before, small wonder that her manners were attractive.

“It is only a small matter after all, Tory. I have been voted the most popular fellow in my class and chosen Class President for the year. What a duffer I sound telling you in this fashion! After all, I suppose I am more of an ass than Lance. And by the way, Tory, it is not true I would not search for him if I had a chance or go to him if he is in trouble. I suppose you are right. He may be a kind of a halfway genius and an ordinary fellow like I am can’t be expected to understand him.

“You’ll dance with me as often as you can for the rest of the evening?” Tory agreed.