The houses occupied by William’s and Joan’s families respectively were semi-detached, but William’s and Joan’s bedroom windows faced each other, and there was only about five yards between them.

[Illustration:  “YES,” A PAUSE, THEN—­“WILLIAM, YOU DON’T LIKE HER BETTER THAN ME, DO YOU?”]

There came to William’s ears as he lay drowsily in bed the sound of a gentle rattle at the window.  He got up and opened it.  At the opposite window a little white-robed figure leant out, whose golden curls shone in the starlight.

“William,” she whispered, “I threw some beads to see if you were awake.  Were your folks mad?”

“Awful,” said William laconically.

“Mine were too.  I di’n’t care, did you?”

“No, I di’n’t.  Not a bit!”

“William, wasn’t it fun?  I wish it was just beginning again, don’t you?”

“Yes, I jus’ do.  I say, Joan, wasn’t she a jolly little kid and di’n’t she dance fine?”

“Yes,”—­a pause—­then, “William, you don’t like her better’n me, do you?”

William considered.

“No, I don’t,” he said at last.

A soft sigh of relief came through the darkness.

“I’m so glad!  Go’-night, William.”

“Go’-night,” said William sleepily, drawing down his window as he spoke.