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"Don't you like your partner?" asked Abner hopefully.

"Why, Abner, they're my guests!" She regarded him with amused, speculative eyes. "You're awfully strong, aren't you, Mr. Teeftallow?"

Abner had difficulty in disregarding the white modelling of her neck and bosom and clinging to the thread of their conversation.

"I—guess so," he answered vaguely.

"You look as if you could hold a girl up in one hand—when do you do your daily dozen?"

"Look here," ejaculated Abner, entirely bewildered by this attack. "What are you driving at, Adelaide?"

"I'm not sure I'm driving at anything yet; this is probably a tour of inspection.—Papa says you're awfully wealthy."

Abner withdrew himself sufficiently from Adelaide's décolleté attire to answer in his country drawl, "You mean you're looking me over to see if I'll do?"

"Well, a girl has some idea of what she wants—after she falls in love the first time and lives over it."

"But she don't know the first time?" inquired Abner curiously.

"Of course not. Were you aware of any faults in your first sweetheart, Abner? No, life sends everybody just one paragon straight down out of Heaven, and that's the last one you'll ever see no matter how long you live. . . ." Adelaide broke off a tip of the artificial palm. "How old are you, Abner?"

"Nineteen."

"That's very young. I'm eighteen; that's very old. Such an old woman as I am oughtn't to rope in a kid like you, but if I don't—some other ancient will. How many farms have you got, Abner?"

Abner flushed slightly at Adelaide's chaffing air. She was certainly the most unladylike girl he had ever seen. She sat regarding him with a little smile, presently began again: "I saw you watching me dance with Buck Sharp; you didn't seem to enjoy it as much as we did."