to put a little pep into yourself and enjoy the evening, why did you ask Clara to have me take you to Sennen's? I like to carry a queen; I'm not crazy to drag a dumbbell to a dance." He was pouring the cup-top full again and splashing some over; he would not force her to drink, she thought, but certainly he meant to hold the cup to her mouth for her. She took it, turned it in her fingers for a few seconds while he watched her; then she drank almost all the raw, stinging fluid, choking a little as she handed back the cup. He finished it and twisted down the cap.
"More whenever you say so," he offered.
The burning sensation in her throat gave way to warmth and a slight feeling of spinning fullness in her head; strong stuff, it was. Next Mr. Saltro would have his arm about her, she thought; but this did not happen until they were at Sennen's, had joined up with Clara and Mr. Troufrie again and were dancing. For Mr. Saltro was a gentleman, by Sennen's standards, at least; and Sennen's was no underworld palace nor vicious dance hall, notorious from police raids; Sennen's took consistent care to be decent and respectable. A man usually, at least, had to take the trouble to gain an introduction to a girl before he spoke to her; no lady without escort was admitted; here and there were girls who actually were chaperoned; and many more arrived, with their escorts, in groups of four to six, as Marjorie and Clara had; and in the wide, noisy, overdecorated hall, there was conspicuous and vigilant censorship of the dancing
Sennen himself, a small, alert, dapper man in speckless evening clothes, oversaw everything, as Mr. Saltro, during his second toddle with Marjorie, pointed out.
"Sennen's certainly foolish—just like a fox," Mr.
