After dinner, when the added guests invited by the duchess for the dance crowded the ballroom, Minot encountered Jack Paddock, Mr. Paddock was limp and pitiable.
"Ever apologize to an angry woman?" he asked. "Ever try to expostulate with a storm at sea? I've had it out with Mrs. Bruce—offered to do anything to atone—she said the best thing I could do would be to disappear from San Marco. She's right. I'm going. This is my exit from the butterfly life. And I don't intend to say good-by to the duchess, either."
"I wish I could go with you," said Minot sadly.
"Well—come along"
"No. I—I'll stick it out See you later."
Mr. Paddock slipped unostentatiously away in the direction of the elevator. On a dais hidden by palms the orchestra began to play softly.
"You haven't asked to see my card," said Cynthia Meyrick at Minot's side.
He smiled a wan smile, and wrote his name opposite number five. She drifted away. The music became louder, rising to the bright stars themselves. The dances that had furnished so
