id you make him very unhappy," he ventured.

"That's _his_ lookout," she finished.

Peter was taking a great delight in watching her profile, the blue eyes
shadowed under the mass of her hair, eyes rather deeply set and
thoughtful in repose, the straight nose, the rather full underlip ending
in a precipitous dent above her chin. He liked that chin. There was
courage there and strength, softened at once by the curve of the throat,
flowing to where it joined the fine deep breast. Yesterday she had
seemed like a boy. To-day she was a woman grown, feminine in every
graceful conformation, on tiptoe at the very verge of life.

But there was no "flapper" here. What she lacked in culture was made up
in refinement. He had felt that yesterday--the day before. She belonged
elsewhere. And yet to Peter it would have seemed a pity to have changed
her in any particular. Her lips were now drawn in a firm line and her
brows bore a curious frown.

"You don't mind my calling you Beth, do you?"

She flashed a glance at him.

"That's what everybody calls me."

"My name is Peter."

"Yes, I know." And then, "That's funny."

"Funny!"

"You look as if your name ought to be Algernon."

"Why?" he asked, laughing.

"Oh, I don't know. It's the name of a man in a book I read--an
Englishman. You're English, you said."

"Half English," said Peter.

"What's the other half?"

"Russian." He knew that he ought to be lying to her, but somehow he
couldn't.

"Russian! I thought Russians all had long hair and carried bombs."

"Some of 'em do. I'm not that kind. The half of me that's English is the
biggest half, and the safest."

"I'm glad of that. I'd hate to think of you as bein' a Bolshevik."

"H-m. So would I."

"But Russia's where you get your music from, isn't it? The band leader
at Glassboro is a Russian. He can play every instrument. Did you learn
music in Russia?"

Beth was now treading dangerous ground and so it was time to turn the
tables.

"Yes, a little," he said, "but music has no nationality. Or why would I
find a voice like yours out here?"

"Twenty miles from nowhere," she added scornfully.

"How did you come here, Beth? Would you mind telling me? You weren't
born here, were you? How did you happen to come to Black Rock?"

"Just bad luck, I guess. Nobody'd ever come to Black Rock just because
they want to. We just came. That's all."

"Just you and Aunt Tillie? Is your father dead?" he asked.

She closed her