ovement of the
professional type."

Johnny looked at Polly with hasty concern, but that young lady was
enjoying the joke on Constance and gripped his arm for silence.

"One can quite understand how poor Billy Parsons might become
infatuated with her doll-face," returned Miss Purry pityingly, since
she was herself entirely free from the crime of doll-facedness; "but
that the Parsons should adopt such a common person merely because Billy
died before he could marry her was inconsiderate of the rest of our
class."

"The artfulness of her!" exclaimed the thick one, lorgnetting the
graceful Constance with a fishy eye as the temporary flower girl
joyously greeted Ashley Loring and Val Russel and Bruce Townley, pinned
bouquets upon them and exchanged laughing banter with them.

"Dreadful!" agreed the shocked thin one. "Those are the very wiles by
which doll-faced stage women insnare our most desirable young men."

Constance looked about just then in search of Polly, and her eyes
lighted as they saw Johnny standing with her.

"Oh, Polly!" she called.

"Coming, Constance!" returned the hearty and cheery voice of Polly from
just behind the critics.

The ladies in lavender and orange were still gasping when Johnny Gamble
passed them with Polly. He had made up his mind about the river-front
property.

Loud acclaim hailed Polly and Johnny, for where they went there was
zest of life; and the boys, knowing well that Johnny never wore
flowers, made instant way for him at the violet booth.

"I'll take some blue ones, lady," announced Johnny gamely, intending to
wear them with defiance.

"I'll give you the nearest we have, mister," laughed Constance, and
promptly decorated him.

Since this was the closest her face and eyes had ever been to him, he
forgot to pay her and had to be reminded of that important duty by
Polly and all the boys in unison. There was a faint evasive trace of
perfume about her, more like the freshness of morning or the delicacy
of starlight than an actual essence, he vaguely thought with a groping
return to his poetic inclination. He felt the warmth of her velvet
cheek, even at its distance of a foot away, and there seemed to be a
pulsing thrill in the very air which intervened. For a startled instant
he found himself gazing deep down into her brown eyes. In that instant
her red lips curved in a fleeting smile--a smile of the type which
needs moist eyes to carry its tenderness. It was all over in a fl