"Hello, Gordon," called Edith over her partner's shoulder. Her heart
was pounding wildly.

His large dark eyes were fixed on her. He took a step in her
direction. Her partner turned her away--she heard his voice
bleating----

"--but half the stags get lit and leave before long, so--" Then a low
tone at her side.

"May I, please?"

She was dancing suddenly with Gordon; one of his arms was around her;
she felt it tighten spasmodically; felt his hand on her back with the
fingers spread. Her hand holding the little lace handkerchief was
crushed in his.

"Why Gordon," she began breathlessly.

"Hello, Edith."

She slipped again--was tossed forward by her recovery until her face
touched the black cloth of his dinner coat. She loved him--she knew
she loved him--then for a minute there was silence while a strange
feeling of uneasiness crept over her. Something was wrong.

Of a sudden her heart wrenched, and turned over as she realized what
it was. He was pitiful and wretched, a little drunk, and miserably
tired.