fiasco after all, when Helen, assured and smiling, bore down upon Chip.
"Here's good dancing material, unless I'm much mistaken," she said. "Any one who appreciates poetry must have a sense of rhythm, and if you have that, you can dance." So she led him protesting helplessly, to the floor.
"Bother Helen," said Judy under her breath. "If he ever did learn to dance, I intended teaching him myself." She felt a little ruffled, although she realized perfectly that Helen's attentions to Chip were probably occasioned by some little tiff with Gordon.
As she danced with Captain Stevens, she watched Chip, and saw that he was acquitting himself creditably. But it seemed to her all wrong that he should be dancing at all. It didn't suit him. He wasn't a dancing man and never would be. She was glad of it. There were plenty of Captain Stevens' sort about. She suddenly felt a distaste for that form of amusement. In the midst of the moving couples, and the raucous voice of the gramophone, a wave of distaste and boredom came over her. What was she doing with her life? Nothing. It was empty, useless, senseless. She wasn't wanted anywhere. And now she was trying to drag Chip into that empti-
