ittle playmate of the children, nor yet the
quiet, domestic woman who had served him that night in the kitchen.

There was an indefinable charm about her that defied definition or
analysis--a rapt, exquisite look that lifted her up--up to his primitive
ideal.

"Pen!"

He started toward her, seemed to remember, hesitated and then asked
lamely:

"What have you been doing all day?"

Her former little air of raillery crept back momentarily at his change of
tone.

"A narrow escape," she thought, as she said aloud, reckless of
consequences: "I motored into town by myself; bought some new clothes; had
dinner with an old friend; saw an aeroplane go up and--"

He smiled in a bored way and asked her some irrelevant question.

"The easiest way to deceive, as Hebby always said, is to tell the truth,"
she thought.

"Pen!" He spoke with a return of his first manner. "I--"

"I am very tired," she quickly interrupted, "I think I will say
good-night, now."

"Don't go yet," he urged, "I--"

"I want to be alone," she replied wearily.

"There is something I want to say to you. Jo Gary comes to-morrow!"

"Yes," she answered indifferently. "Mr. Westcott found another manager,
did he?"

"You knew Jo was at Westcott's?" he gasped.

"Certainly. I've seen Jo a number of times."

"When, where?" he demanded in displeased tone.

"Let me think. Why, he came back from Westcott's the day after my arrival.
Their manager postponed departure. So Jo was here for the dance, and on
field day--and--I think he went back to Westcott's the day you came back.
Wasn't it all right to see him?" she asked guilelessly. "Mrs. Kingdon
didn't object."

"What other times did you see him?"

"I heard him whistle one night, and I slid down the big tree near my
window. Then he came one morning to bring me flowers. I am glad he is
coming for keeps. He livens things up, Jo does."

"Why did neither you nor he speak of your having met?"

"I begged him not to, because I felt that you wouldn't approve."

An intense silence followed.

"Do you think," he asked bitterly, "that you are fair to Jo--"

"To Jo?" she asked in surprise. "I don't understand."

"You do understand. Jo told me what he asked you in Chicago and how you
left him--to reform--to be worthy of his love."

"I haven't deceived Jo," she replied slowly. "I told him where you found
me and why. He doesn't care. He understands. Jo loves--"

The pause that followed was so prolonged that s