to these
youngsters I'm tied to a post. My kid sister Joyce--Rose Clymer--Bessy
Bell!... Some kids, believe me. And take it from me, girls, these
dimple-kneed chickens are vamping the older boys."

"They're all stuck on Bessy," said Helen.

Margaret squealed in delight. "Girls, look here. Valentines! Did you
ever?... Look at them.... And what's this?... 'Wonders of
Nature--composition by Margaret Maynard.' Heavens! Did I write that?
And what's this sear and yellow document?"

A slivery peal of laughter burst from Margaret.

"Dal, here's one of your masterpieces, composed when you were
thirteen, and mooney over Daren Lane."

"I? Never! I didn't write it," denied Dorothy, with color in her dark
cheeks.

"Yes you did. It's signed--'Yours forever Dot Dalrymple.' ... Besides
I remember now Daren gave it to me. Said he wanted to prove he could
have other girls if he couldn't have me."

"How chivalrous!" exclaimed Dorothy, joining in the laugh.

"Ah! here's what I've been hunting," declared Margaret, waving aloft a
small picture. "It's a photograph of Holt, taken five years ago. Only
the other evening he swore I hadn't kept it--dared me to produce it.
He'll want it now--for some other girl. But nix, it's mine.... Dal,
isn't he a handsome boy here?"

With sisterly impartiality Dorothy declared she could not in the
wildest flight of her imagination see her brother as handsome.

"Holt used to be good-looking," said she. "But he outgrew it. That
South Carolina training camp and the flu changed his looks as well as
his disposition."

"Holt _is_ changed," mused Margaret, gazing down at the picture, and
the glow faded from her face.

"Dare Lane is handsome, even if he is a wreck," said Elinor, with
sudden enthusiasm. "Friday night when he beat it from Fanchon's party
he sure looked splendid."

Elinor was a staunch admirer of Lane's and she was the inveterate
torment of her girl friends. She gave Helen a sly glance. Helen's
green eyes narrowed and gleamed.

"Yes, Dare's handsomer than ever," she said. "And to give the devil
his due he's _finer_ than ever. Too damn fine for this crowd!... But
what's the use--" she broke off.

"Yes, poor Dare Lane!" sighed Elinor. "Dare deserves much from all of
us, not to mention _you_. He has made me think. Thank Heaven, I found
I hadn't forgotten how."

"El, no one would notice it," returned Helen, sarcastically.

"It's easy to see where you get off," retorted Elinor.

Then