f course, the object, being run down panting, into a
corner, dodges, evades, gets out and runs away. Rachel, dear, what are you
going to wear to-night?"

"My best frock," said Rachel, smiling.

"Which is----"

"White."

"Cut out at the neck?"

"A little."

"Short in the sleeves?"

"To the elbows. It was my sophomore evening dress."

"It will be all right, I know. Rachel, wear a white rose in those low
black braids of yours--will you?"

"No, I think I won't," refused Rachel.

"Why not?"

Rachel did not answer. Into her cool cheek crept a tinge of rebellious,
telltale colour.

Juliet studied her a minute in silence, then came up to her and laying
both hands on her shoulders looked up into her eyes.

"You try to 'play fair,' don't you, dear?" she said heartily, "whatever
the rest may do. And whatever they may do, Rachel Redding, don't you care.
It's not your fault that they are as jealous of you as girls can be and
keep sweet outside. I'd be jealous of you myself if----" She paused,
laughing.

"When you grow jealous," said Rachel, "it will be because you have grown
blind. If anybody ever wore his heart on his sleeve--no, not there--but
beating sturdily in the right place for one woman in the world it's----"

"Right you are," said Anthony Robeson, coming up behind them, "and I hope
you may convince her of it. She has no confidence in her own powers."

Rachel stood looking at them a moment, her dark eyes very bright. "To see
you two," she said slowly at length, "is to believe it all."

The evening promised to be a gay one. The men of the party had sent to
town for many lanterns, flags and decorations of the sort, and had made
the porch and lawn the setting for a brilliant scene. A dozen young people
had been asked out, and came enthusiastically.

"We'll wind up with a flourish," said Anthony in his wife's ear as they
descended the stairs together, "and then we'll send them all off to-morrow
where they'll cease from troubling. I think it was the best plan in the
world, but I'll be glad to prowl about my beloved home without observing
Cathcart scowling at Lockwood, Roger Barnes evading Suzanne, or even my
good boy Wayne with that eternal wonder on his face as to why his flat
does not look like our Eden."

"Hush--and don't look too happy to-morrow, Tony. Oh, here comes Rachel.
Isn't she lovely?"

"Now, watch," murmured Anthony, his face full of amusement. "It's as good
as the best comedy I ever saw. S