zen
different poses instead of making plans for a garden city."

Magda smiled involuntarily.

"Does he do that?" she said. "But how ridiculous of him!"

"It's merely indicative of his state of mind," returned Gillian. She
gazed meditatively into the fire. "You know, Magda, I think it will mean
the end of our friendship when Coppertop reaches years of discretion."

Coppertop was Gillian's small son, a young person of seven, who owed his
cognomen to the crop of flaming red curls which adorned his round button
of a head.

Magda laughed.

"Pouf! By the time that happens I shall be quite old--and harmless."

Gillian shook her head.

"Your type is never harmless, my dear. Unless you fall in love, you'll
be an unexploded mine till the day of your death."

"That nearly occurred to-day, by the way," vouchsafed Magda tranquilly.
"In which case,"--smiling--"you'd have been spared any further anxiety
on Coppertop's account."

"What do you mean?" demanded Gillian, startled.

"I mean that I've had an adventure this afternoon. We got smashed up in
the fog."

"Oh, my dear! How dreadful! How did it happen?"

"Something collided with the car and shot us bang into a motor-bus, and
then, almost at the same moment, something else charged into us from
behind. So there was a pretty fair mix-up."

"Why didn't you tell me before! Was anyone badly hurt? And how did you
get home?" Gillian's questions poured out excitedly.

"No, no one was badly hurt. I got a blow on the head, and fainted. So a
man who'd been inside the bus we ran into performed the rescuing stunt.
His house was close by, and he carried me in there and proceeded to dose
me with sal volatile first and tea afterwards. He wound up by presenting
me with an unvarnished summary of his opinion of the likes of me."

There was an unwontedly hard note in Magda's voice as she detailed the
afternoon's events, and Gillian glanced at her sharply.

"I don't understand. Was he a strait-laced prig who disapproved of
dancing, do you mean?"

"Nothing of the sort. He had a most comprehensive appreciation of
the art of dancing. His disapproval was entirely concentrated on
me--personally."

"But how could it be--since he didn't know you?"

Magda gave a little grin.

"You mean it would have been quite comprehensible if he _had_ known me?"
she observed ironically.

The other laughed.

"Don't be so provoking! You know perfectly well what I meant! You
deserve that I should an