ken their places in Mr. Kendrick's car, its
windows open, its luxurious winter cushioning covered with dust-proof,
cool-feeling materials. Richard sat opposite Roberta, and it was easy
for her to see by the peculiar light in his eyes that there was
something afoot which was giving him more than ordinary joy in her
companionship. His lips could hardly keep themselves in order, the tones
of his voice were vibrant, his glance would have met hers every other
minute if she would have allowed it.

The car rolled along a certain aristocratic boulevard leading out of the
city, past one stately residence after another. As the distance became
greater from the centre of affairs, the places took on a more and more
comfortable aspect, with less majesty of outline, and more home-likeness.
Surrounding grounds grew more extensive, the houses themselves lower
spreading and more picturesque. It was a favourite drive, but there were
comparatively few abroad on this July morning. Nearly every residence
was closed, and the inhabitants away, though the beauty of the
environment was as carefully preserved as if the owners were there to
observe and enjoy.

"We're the only people in the city this summer," observed Richard,
"except ninety-nine-hundredths of the population, which fails to count,
of course, in the eyes of these residents. Curious custom, isn't it? to
close such homes as these, just when they're at their most attractive,
and go off to a country house. They'd be twice as comfortable at home,
in this weather--just as we are. And this is the first summer I ever
tried it! Robin, that's a pleasant place, isn't it?"

He indicated one of the houses they were passing, an unusually
interesting combination of wood and stone, half hidden beneath spreading
vines.

"Yes, that's charming," she agreed. "And I like the next even better,
don't you?"

The next was of a different style entirely, less ambitious and more
friendly of appearance, with long reaches of porch and pergola, and more
than usually well-arranged masses of shrubbery enhancing the whole
effect of withdrawal from the public gaze.

"I do, I think, for some reasons. You choose the least pretentious
houses, every time, don't you? Don't care a bit for show places?"

"Not a bit," owned the girl.

"Here's one, now," Richard pointed it out. "The owner spent a lot of
money on that. Would you live in it?"

"Not--willingly."

Richard glanced at his grandfather. "I wonder just ho