o
you?"

"If you will forgive my bad taste, I believe I shall go with Corrie,"
Gerard deprecated, rising. He looked again at Flavia, but she offered no
suggestion that he stay.

"That's the idea," approved the gentleman in question. "I'll ring for
our raincoats."

There was a period of silence in the many-windowed, octagonal library,
after the two young girls were left alone. Flavia continued to play with
the drowsy kitten. Isabel, chin in hand, gazed across the rain-drenched
window-panes, her full lips bent discontentedly. The first diversion was
effected by the smart slap of a maple-leaf flattened against the glass
by a gust of wind, directly across the watcher's line of vision.

"P.P.C.," interpreted Flavia, surveying the large pale-golden leaf, as
it adhered to the wet pane opposite her cousin.

"Now, what may that mean?" Isabel demanded.

"_Pour prendre conge_, of course. Those are the farewell cards of
departing summer. See her coat-of-arms on it: a gold-and-crimson
sunset?"

Isabel eyed her companion with scornful superiority.

"You had better talk sense," she counselled. "That is a good stiff
north wind blowing, and Corrie is just as reckless with his motor boat
as he is with his car. He and Mr. Gerard are likely to be
half-drowned--and I am glad of it."

"Isa!"

"I am glad. It serves them right for leaving me at home and going off
with that mechanic. I know why Corrie did it, too; he didn't want us to
be together all day. He is jealous of Mr. Gerard because he likes me."

"Corrie does?"

Isabel launched a glance of malicious comprehension over her shoulder,
smilingly meaningly.

"Oh, Corrie! Of course! But I meant Mr. Gerard. Anyone can see how
Corrie hates to have him with me."

Flavia adjusted the blue-satin bow upon Firdousi's neck, saying nothing
for a moment. She did not intend to put the question hovering at her
lips, yet suddenly the indiscreet words escaped her:

"Then, you think Mr. Gerard is--interested in you?"

"Did you ever know a man to come here without being interested in me,
Flavia Rose?"

The superb arrogance was a trifle too much to escape retort, even from
the considerate Flavia.

"Well, there was Mr. Stone," she recalled, with intention.

Isabel colored richly, her handsome light-gray eyes hardened. The recent
episode of Mr. Ethan Stone had not been one of her triumphs in
flirtation.

"He was almost as old as uncle," she exclaimed sharply. "He would have
died of