responsible little person with very definite and old-fashioned views.
"Well," she said, "it's a charming little story, really. I was the
maiden who had to be rescued from the ugly castle, and Martin was the
knight who performed the deed. And being a knight with a tremendous
sense of convention and a castle of his own full of well-trained
servants, it didn't seem to him that he could give me the run of his
house in the Paul and Virginia manner, which isn't being done now; and
so, like a little gentleman, he married me, or as I suppose you would
put it, went through the form of marriage. It's all part of the
adventure that we started one afternoon on the edge of the woods. I
call it the cool and common-sense romance of two very modern and
civilized people."

"I don't think there's any place in romance for such things as coolness
and common sense," said Alice warmly. "And as to there being two very
modern and civilized people in your adventure, as you call it, that I
doubt."

Joan's large brown eyes grew a little larger, and she looked at the
enthusiastic girl in front of her with more interest. "Do you?" she
asked. "Why?"

Alice got up. She was disturbed and worried. She had a great affection
for Joan, and that boy was indeed a knight. "I saw Martin walking away
from your house the night you dined with Gilbert at the Brevoort--I was
told about that!--and there was something in his eyes that wasn't the
least bit cool. Also I rode in the Park with him one morning a week
ago, and I thought he looked ill and haggard and--if you must
know--starved. No one would say that you aren't modern and
civilized,--and those are tame words,--but if Martin were to come in
now and make a clean breast of it, you'd be surprised to find how
little he is of either of those things, if I know anything about him."

"Then, my dear," replied Joan, making a very special ring of smoke,
"you know more about him than I do."

Alice began to walk about. A form of marriage--that was the phrase that
stuck in her mind. And here was a girl who was without a genuine friend
in all that heartless town except herself, and a fine boy who needed
one, she began to see, very badly. She, at any rate, and she thanked
God for it, was properly married, and she owed it to friendship to make
a try to put things right with these two.

"Joan, I believe I do," she said. "I really believe I do, although I've
only had one real talk with him. You're terribly and awfully y