gh nobody cared for
you. When Don is home I have no fear, but when he is away there is
really no one to study your interests, and, after all, Flamby, you are
only a girl."

"There is Mrs. Chumley and Mr. Hammett and Claude Chauvin."

"Three quite delightful people, Flamby, I admit. But Hammett and Chauvin
cannot always be with you, and Mrs. Chumley's sweet and unselfish life
affords nothing but an illustration of unworldliness. Yet, if these were
your only friends, I should be more contented."

Flamby tapped her foot upon the carpet and stared down at it unseeingly.
"Are there some of my friends you don't think quite nice?" she asked.
Her humility must have surprised many a one who had thought he knew her
well.

Paul bent forward, resting one hand upon the head of the settee. "I know
very little about your friendships, Flamby. That is why I reproach
myself. But a girl who lives alone should exercise the greatest
discretion in such matters. You must see that this is so. Friends who
would be possible if you were under the care of a mother become
impossible when you are deprived of that care. It is not enough to know
yourself blameless, Flamby. Worldly folks are grossly suspicious,
especially of a pretty girl, and believe me, life is easier and sweeter
without misunderstanding."

"Someone has been telling you tales about me," said Flamby, an ominous
scarlet enflaming her cheeks.

Paul laughed, bending further forward and seeking to draw Flamby's hands
out from their silken hiding-place. She resisted a little, averting her
flushed face, but finally yielded, although she did not look at Paul.
"Dear little Flamby," he said, and the tenderness in his voice seemed
now to turn her cold. "You are not angry with me?" He held her hands
between his own, looking at her earnestly. She glanced up under her
lashes. "If I had not cared I should have said nothing."

"Everybody goes on at me," said Flamby tremulously. "I haven't done any
harm."

"Who has been 'going on' at you, little Flamby?"

"_You_ have, and Chauvin, and everybody."

"But what have they said? What have _I_ said?"

"That I am no good--an absolute rotter!"

"Flamby! Who has said such a thing? Not Chauvin, I'll swear, and not I.
You are wilfully misjudging your real friends, little girl. Because you
are clever--and you are clever, Flamby--you have faith in your judgment
of men yet lack faith in your judgment of yourself. Now, tell me
frankly, have you any f