y," he responded gravely, "truth compels me to state that I
have heard of stranger encounters--less inevitable ones, at least. I
really have."

"But you never heard of a nicer one," said Susan. "Haven't I always told
you and Ambo that Jimmy would be like this?"

"Sort of foolish?" grinned Jimmy, with reawakening constraint. "I'll bet
you have, too."

Susan shook her head, solemn and slow; but the corners of her mouth
meant mischief.

"No, Jimmy, not foolish; just--natural. Just--sort of--_you_."

At this point, Jimmy hastily remembered that he must beat it, pleading
what Phil knew to be an imaginary recitation. But he did not escape
without finding himself invited to dinner for that very evening,
informally of course--Susan suspected the absence of even a dinner coat:
Phil would bring him. It was really Phil who accepted for him, while
Jimmy was still muddling through his thanks and toiling on to needless
apologies.

"If I've been too"--he almost said "fresh," but sank to--"familiar,
calling you by your first name, I mean--I wouldn't like you to
think--but coming all of a sudden like this, what I mean is----"

"Oh, run along!" called Susan gayly. "Forget it, Jimmy! You're spoiling
everything."

"That's what I m-mean," stammered Jimmy, and was gone.

"But he does mean well, Susan," Phil pleaded for him, after closing the
door.

It puzzled him to note that Susan's face instantly clouded; there was
reproof in her tone. "That was patronizing, Phil. I won't have anybody
patronize Jimmy. He's perfect."

Phil was oddly nettled by this reproof and grew stubborn and detached.
"He's a nice boy, certainly; and has the makings of a real man. I
believe in him. Still--heaven knows!--he's not precisely a subtle soul."

Susan's brow had cleared again. "That's what I m-mean!" she laughed,
mimicking Jimmy without satire, as if for the pure pleasure of
recollection. "The truth is, Phil, I'm rather fed up on
subtlety--especially my own. Sometimes I think it's just a polite term
for futility, with a dash of intellectual snobbishness thrown in. It
must be saner, cleaner, healthier, to take life straight."

"And now, Phil dear," she said, dismissing the matter, as if settling
back solidly to earth after a pleasantly breathless aerial spin, "I need
your advice. Can I earn my living as a writer? I'll write anything that
pays, so I think I can. Fashion notes--anything! Sister and I"--"Sister"
being Susan's pet name for Miss Gouc