of men sings another
woman's praises to her. She sent Roger away in perfect good humour
with himself and all the world, then she curled herself up in the
snuggery, pulled a rug over her head, and cried.

Roger came out to Lowlands oftener than ever after that. He had to
talk to somebody about Stephanie Gardiner and Freda was the safest
vent. The "pursuit of the Ideal," as she called it, went on with vim
and fervour. Sometimes Roger would be on the heights of hope and
elation; the next visit he would be in the depths of despair and
humility. Freda had learned to tell which it was by the way he opened
the snuggery door.

One day when Roger came he found six feet of young man reposing at
ease in his particular chair. Freda was sipping chocolate in her
corner and looking over the rim of her cup at the intruder just as she
had been wont to look at Roger. She had on a new dark red gown and
looked vivid and rose-hued.

She introduced the stranger as Mr. Grayson and called him Tim. They
seemed to be excellent friends. Roger sat bolt upright on the edge of
a fragile, gilded chair which Freda kept to hide a shabby spot in the
carpet, and glared at Tim until the latter said goodbye and lounged
out.

"You'll be over tomorrow?" said Freda.

"Can't I come this evening?" he pleaded.

Freda nodded. "Yes--and we'll make taffy. You used to make such
delicious stuff, Tim."

"Who is that fellow, Freda?" Roger inquired crossly, as soon as the
door closed.

Freda began to make a fresh pot of chocolate. She smiled dreamily as
if thinking of something pleasant.

"Why, that was Tim Grayson--dear old Tim. He used to live next door to
us when we were children. And we were such chums--always together,
making mud pies, and getting into scrapes. He is just the same old
Tim, and is home from the west for a long visit. I was so glad to see
him again."

"So it would appear," said Roger grumpily. "Well, now that 'dear old
Tim' is gone, I suppose I can have my own chair, can I? And do give me
some chocolate. I didn't know you made taffy."

"Oh, I don't. It's Tim. He can do everything. He used to make it long
ago, and I washed up after him and helped him eat it. How is the
pursuit of the Ideal coming on, Roger-boy?"

Roger did not feel as if he wanted to talk about the Ideal. He noticed
how vivid Freda's smile was and how lovable were the curves of her
neck where the dusky curls were caught up from it. He had also an
inner vision of Fred