“But you did promise me.”  His voice could be heard all over the room—­even the colonel, who was talking to a group of ladies, raised his head to listen, his companions thinking the commotion was due to the proper arranging of the dance.

Harry’s eyes flashed; angry blood was mounting to his cheeks.  He was amazed at Willits’s outburst.

“You mean to contradict Miss Kate!  Are you crazy, Willits?”

“No, I am entirely sane,” he retorted, an ugly ring in his voice.

Everybody had ceased talking now.  Good-natured disputes over the young girls were not uncommon among the young men, but this one seemed to have an ominous sound.  Colonel Rutter evidently thought so, for he had now risen from his seat and was crossing the room to where Harry and the group stood.

“Well, you neither act nor talk as if you were sane, rejoined Harry in cold, incisive tones, inching his way nearer Kate, as if to be the better prepared to defend her.

Willits’s lip curled.  “I am not beholden to you, sir, for my conduct, although I can be later on for my words.  Let me see your dancing-card, Miss Kate,” and he caught it from her unresisting hand.  “There—­what did I tell you!” This came with a flare of indignation.  “It was a blank when I saw it last and you’ve filled it in, sir, of your own accord!” Here he faced Harry.  “That’s your handwriting—­I’ll leave it to you, Mr. Temple, if it isn’t his handwriting.”

Harry flushed scarlet and his eyes blazed as he stepped toward the speaker.  Kate shrank back in alarm—­she had read Harry’s face and knew what was behind it.

“Take that back, Langdon—­quick!  You are my guest, but you mustn’t say things like that here.  I put my name on the card because Miss Kate asked me to.  Take it back, sir—­now!—­and then make an humble apology to Miss Seymour.

“I’ll take back nothing!  I’ve been cheated out of a dance.  Here—­take her—­and take this with her!” and he tore Kate’s card in half and threw the pieces in his host’s face.

With the spring of a cat, Harry lunged forward and raised his arm as if to strike Willits in the face:  Willits drew himself up to his full height and confronted him:  Kate shrivelled within herself, all the color gone from her cheeks.  Whether to call out for help or withdraw quietly, was what puzzled her.  Both would concentrate the attention of the whole room on the dispute.

St. George, who was boiling with indignation and disgust, but still cool and himself, pushed his way into the middle of the group.

“Not a word, Harry,” he whispered in low, frigid tones.  “This can be settled in another way.”  Then in his kindest voice, so loud that all could hear—­“Teackle, will you and Mr. Willits please meet me in the colonel’s den—­that, perhaps, is the best place after all to straighten out these tangles.  I’ll join you there as soon as I have Miss Kate safely settled.”  He bent over her:  “Kate,