was
no use in expecting seriousness from him. He and Sally were alike;
Beatrix was cast in a different mould. She could suffer and enjoy with
an intensity unknown to either of the others; yet she was close kin to
her cousin in her appreciation of his irresponsible fun, even though it
would never have occurred to her to originate it. Moreover, even if it
had occurred to her, it is doubtful whether she could have accomplished
it.

"Who gets first bite at your bread, Beatrix?" Bobby asked encouragingly.
"Granted that Arlt, whoever he is, gets second nibble, who comes in
ahead?"

"Mrs. Stanley." In spite of herself, Beatrix laughed at the logical
application of her metaphor. Stout, energetic Mrs. Stanley was so like a
greedy young turkey snapping up the crumbs dropped from the hands of her
superiors.

Sally raised her brows.

"Knowing Mrs. Stanley's appetite, I only wonder that any of the loaves
and fishes should be left over," she drawled maliciously.

"Mrs. Stanley has her good points, Sally."

Bobby interrupted.

"Not a point. She is all built in parabolic curves. Why can't you be
accurate, Beatrix, as befits your higher education? You took conic
sections a year before I did."

"All the more reason I should forget them sooner. Besides, haven't I
begged you not to allude to the fact that I am a year older than you?"

"But is Mr. Thayer as great a singer as they say?" Sally asked, with
sudden irrelevancy.

"Greater. He is almost perfectly satisfactory."

"Not quite?"

"Not yet; he will be, some day, if he can only have an unhappy love
affair," Beatrix answered placidly, as she rose from the tea table and
crossed to the open fire.

"That is an humane speech."

"Artistic, though. He needs just that to develop him. He strikes every
note but tenderness."

"Tenderness is generally located at _C in Alt_, Beatrix. A baritone
can't soar to that height; you should be content when he growls defiance
and moans resignation."

"Besides," Sally suggested; "it is quite within the limits of
possibility that Mr. Thayer might have a happy love affair. Would that
answer your purpose, Beatrix?"

"Not in the least. It is his minor key that needs developing."

"Never mind," Bobby added. "Artists are scheduled for the unhappy loves.
Therein lies the advantage of being merely a newspaper man."

Sally looked up inquiringly.

"Just what is it that you do, Bobby? I know you have a desk and a
salary; but I've never been