s hands clasped under his head, and looked scrutinizingly
at his friend.

"Don't take it too hard," he counselled gently. "It's not worth it."

"I know it," replied the Skeptic with another sigh. "But I wish I were
worth--millions."

"Oh, no, you don't," argued the Philosopher.

The Gay Lady and I exchanged glances--through the twilight. We would
have arisen and fled, but the Skeptic caught at my skirts.

"Don't go," he begged. "I'm not really insane--only delirious. It'll
wear off."

"It will," agreed the Philosopher.

"I suppose," began the Skeptic, after some further moments of silence,
"that it's really mostly clothes."

"She's a very charming girl," said the Gay Lady quickly. "I don't blame
you."

"Honestly," said the Skeptic, sitting up and looking at her, "don't you
think her clothes are about all there is of her?"

"No," said the Gay Lady stoutly.

"Yes," said the Philosopher comfortably.

"Yes--and no," said I, as the Skeptic looked at me.

"A girl," argued the Philosopher, suddenly pulling himself out of the
hammock and beginning to pace the floor, "who could come here to this
unpretentious country place with three trunks, and then wear their
contents----Look here"--he paused in front of me and looked at me as
piercingly as somewhat short-sighted blue eyes can look in the
twilight--"did she ever wear the same thing twice?"

"I believe not," I admitted.

"A girl who could come to a place like this and make a show figure of
herself in clothes that any fool could see cost--Caesar, what must they
cost!--and change four times a day--and keep us dancing around in
starched collars----"

"You didn't have to----"

"Yes, we did--pardon me! We did, not to be innocently--not
insolently--mistaken for farm hands. I tell you, a girl like that would
keep a man humping to furnish the wherewithal. For what," continued the
Philosopher, growing very earnest--"what, if she'd wear that sort of
clothes here, would she consider necessary for--for--visiting her rich
friends? Tell me that!"

We could not tell him that. We did not try.

The Gay Lady was pinching one of her little flowered dimity ruffles into
plaits with an agitated thumb and finger. I was sure the Skeptic's
present state of mind was of more moment to her than she would ever let
appear to anybody.

The Skeptic rose slowly from his chair.

"Will you walk down the garden path with me?" he asked the Gay Lady.

They sauntered slowly away into th