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His head was turned toward the lady on his right, who was rallying him that he was not drinking, and he did not hear.
    "Yes," assented the hostess. "It's his mother's fault. She made him that way. I always said she would, keeping him so much to himself and making him grind at his studies. But Nell, he's horribly good looking, you know."
    "Yes, darling. He always was! But what a waste under a scholarly expression like that!"
    When the company drifted out of the dining room at last, Keith Morrell paused at the open door and gazed out into the night. The soft splash of a fountain, the sweet tang of honeysuckle from an arbor drew him. He longed inexpressibly to get away. How could he manage it? It was only a step out there into the soft darkness where he could get his balance, get away from the eager pursuit of happiness. He could easily go and no one know where he had gone. But that wasn't exactly the courteous thing to do.
    Evelyn came hastening toward him smiling. The orchestra was playing and already two couples were dancing. He didn't want to dance with Evelyn, and he could see that was what she was intending should happen. Quickly he glanced down at his watch, and then as she reached him he looked up, smiling.
    "I wonder if I could make a phone call here in the village?" he said pleasantly.
    "Oh, surely," she said, leading the way to the phone and showing signs of intending to linger and wait for him.
    "This is something I should have attended to earlier in the afternoon," he explained as he took up the telephone book and slipped into the little booth under the stairs. "I probably shall not be long. I'll find you in the other room when I am done. Don't let me keep you."
    Reluctantly she drifted away.
    There had been only one person in the town whom he could think of to call up in his need of an excuse, and that was an elderly woman, a friend of his mother's, a lifelong invalid, yet a shining saint. He hadn't thought of her in years, and he had no real obligation toward her. She was just a vague part of the dim background of his childhood, but it certainly would please her if he called up to ask after her health, though he wasn't even sure she was alive now.
    But there was her name, Miss Emily Lynd. Why shouldn't he go and call for a moment? It would give him an excuse to get away and really was the kind thing for him to do. She had been so fond of his mother and of course had heard nothing except the bare fact of her death. It was one of the things his mother would have liked him to be thoughtful enough to do. Well, at least he would see if she was able to see him. She had been bedridden when they went away. Perhaps she still was. Perhaps it was too late to call up an invalid, almost ten o'clock! Well, he would venture it anyway.
    So he called, and almost immediately the answer came, the same sweet, fresh young voice he remembered of old. How had she managed to keep her voice young through all the years of pain she had had to endure?
    "Yes? This is Miss Lynd."
    "This is Keith Morrell, Aunt Emily." Everybody called her "Aunt" who knew Emily Lynd at all. "Did I call you too late? Had you retired?"
    There came a flute note of laughter.
    "Retired? Dear lad! How should I retire more than I am continually? Don't you know that I've been nothing else but retired for the last five years? But have I turned my light out yet? No, I hadn't, and if I had I would turn it on again to hear you talk. It's great to hear your voice after this long silence. Where are you? Can't you come and see me?"
    "I'm in the village, Aunt Emily. Yes, I'll come for a few minutes, if I'm not too late."
    He hung up the phone with a guilty sense that it would have been just too bad if he hadn't done this, and he probably wouldn't have thought of it if he hadn't been so bored with this dinner party.
    He sought Evelyn Avery and made his excuses, pleading an urgent errand, and drew a free breath as he strode away from the house.
    As he found his way down the