That night the Belden House gave its annual dance in the gym. It was still Indian summer weather and the moon was full. Madeline, who did not share the enthusiasm of most Harding girls for man-less dances, arranged her program with a view to frequent intervals of moonlight and solitude on the back campus. She danced the first number with one of her guests, and then strolled out to enjoy numbers two, three and four, which were blanks. She found a belated hammock, sole relic of the joys of springtime, swinging under the yellowing apple-trees, and lay back in it, listening to the music that floated out, soft and sweet, from the gaily lighted gym., and enjoying that delicious sense of evaded responsibility which only the true Bohemian, without even the vestige of a New England conscience, can experience.