anning
appeared in the doorway.

"Weren't we splendid together?" she greeted him. "Just like the
Victrola. Let's do it again!"

They did it again, and afterwards shook hands in mutual congratulation.

"What you said was quite true--music without some one to share it is
only half music," he remarked. "But whom did you say it to?" He looked
about him curiously.

"Oh, to my familiars!" She waved an airy hand. "This place is haunted,
you know; but the ghosts run when they see a stranger.--You _do_ make
unexpected appearances, Mr. Channing!"

"Nothing compared with yours. The banister-rail, riding bareback 'out of
the night,' as the romantics love to say--But unexpected? Come now, Miss
Jacqueline--" he smiled quizzically--"surely you did expect me to
inquire for your health?"

She dimpled. "Yes--but not quite so soon."

"You do yourself an injustice!" He added, with an air of formality, "I
have come to make my dinner call. Is your mother at home?"

"You know very well that she's away, because you heard Philip say so
last night! There's Jemima, though."

"Is your sister at home?" he asked politely.

"She's making pickle this afternoon, and she's always rather cross when
she makes pickle. But I'm sure she'll see you, if you wish."

"I don't," said Channing.

"I thought not," murmured Jacqueline, and made a place for him to sit
down beside her. "Look out--you'll squash the baby!"

Channing jumped. "A baby? Beg pardon, infant--" he poked a finger toward
young Kitty, who promptly conveyed it to her mouth. "It's biting me," he
said plaintively. "Call it off--What are you doing with a baby?"

"I'm winning it away from its mother so that she'll let me keep it for
good," said Jacqueline in confidence.

"Humph! Rather a high-handed proceeding, that."

"Oh, no--I don't think Mag really wants a baby much, not like I do.
She's fond of it in a way, just as cats are fond of their kittens; but
they soon outgrow it, you know. Why, once we had a cat who ate her
kittens!"

"Shocking of her," said Channing.

"I suppose it was because she didn't want to have them--any more than
Mag did. She never had a husband, you see, and that makes it so
awkward."

"Meaning the cat?" murmured Channing.

The author of erotic novels was rather pink about the gills. He wondered
how much of the girl's naivete was natural and how much pose. On the
whole, judging from her antecedents and environment, he decided that it
was largely pose, b