“What’s up?” he called out.  “Is it a boardin’-school or a lunatic asylum?”

Polly and Miss Sterling came whirling toward him.  “Neither, sir!” answered Polly promptly.  “We are dancing hikers!”

“Wh-at?” the man gasped.

But the laughing couple waltzed on.

Blue had gallantly claimed Juanita Sterling for her second dance, and as they waltzed down to the street they saw the motorists whom they had left beside the road driving toward them.  The car stopped, and Mr. Randolph and Miss Puddicombe stepped out.

“It was too tempting!” he exclaimed.  “We couldn’t go by.  Is it a free-for-everybody dance?”

“Of course it is!” answered Blue.  “We are very glad to have you stop and try it with us.”

The Home President turned to his companion.  “Will you come?” he said.

She looked down with a scowl.  “Why, Nelson, I can’t dance on such rough ground!”

“Oh, come on!” he urged.  “What the others can do, we can!”

“It isn’t bad—­really!” smiled Miss Sterling.  “The sheep have nibbled it pretty smooth.”

The couples whirled off, but soon afterwards Nelson Randolph was seen standing alone over by the wood.

“Guess she’s the kind that goes with waxed floors and a whole orchestra,” laughed Blue.

When the fiddling came to a pause Juanita Sterling found herself not far from the man whom she was endeavoring to shun.

“Let’s go down to those birches!” she proposed carelessly.  But she was too late, for Nelson Randolph was already coming her way.

“Too tired for another turn?” he asked.

“Oh, no, I’m not tired!”—­yet her face did not reflect his smile.  She wished he would go away and leave her alone.  Why must she continually be meeting him!  Still she could not easily refuse when he urged his request, and she yielded a somewhat grave consent.

Miss Crilly and David Collins gayly led the quadrille that followed, and even Miss Castlevaine’s habitual sneer was lost in the enjoyment of the moment.  But Juanita Sterling, lover of all outdoors, devotee of music and the dance, with the best partner on the ground, went through the steps, her graceful feet and her aching heart pitifully at variance.

They walked together over to the edge of the wood.

“I have business in Riverview to-morrow morning—­would you like to go?  The ride over the mountain is very pretty now, and my errand won’t take more than five minutes.”

She could feel the warm blood creep up her face.  Her answer hesitated.  “I am sorry,” came at last, “but I’m afraid I cannot—­to-morrow.”

He gave a little rueful laugh.  “I always choose the wrong time,” he said.

“I am very sorry,” she repeated truthfully.

“Nelson!” called Miss Puddicombe, as they drew near.  “It is horribly impolite; but I think I’ll have to hurry you a little.  I want to see Grace about those tickets for the Charity Fair, and it is getting late.”