Graham was engaged. He hardly knew himself how it had come about. His
affair with Marion had been, up to the very moment of his blurted--out
"I want you," as light-hearted as that of any of the assorted young
couples who flirted and kissed behind the closed doors of that popular
house.

The crowd which frequented the Hayden home was gay, tolerant and
occasionally nasty. It made ardent love semi-promiscuously, it drank
rather more than it should, and its desire for a good time often brought
it rather close to the danger line. It did not actually step over, but
it hovered gayly on the brink.

And Toots remained high-priestess of her little cult. The men liked
her. The girls imitated her. And Graham, young as he was, seeing her
popularity, was vastly gratified to find himself standing high in her
favor.

Marion was playing for the stake of the Spencer money. In her intimate
circle every one knew it but Graham.

"How's every little millionaire?" was Tommy Hale's usual greeting.

She knew only one way to handle men, and with the stake of the Spencer
money she tried every lure of her experience on Graham. It was always
Marion who on cold nights sat huddled against him in the back seat of
the Hayden's rather shabby car, her warm ungloved hand in his. It was
Marion who taught him to mix the newest of cocktails, and who later
praised his skill. It was Marion who insisted on his having a third,
too, when the second had already set his ears drumming.