the Kerr library title by title: "Ben Hur," "The Little Minister,"
"Law's Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life" (from his loving
Grandma--Xmas 1904), "Droll Tales," "Religio Medici" (Grandma
again--Xmas 1907), "The Cynic's Book of Girls"--

Carlisle laughed merrily. "Willie has two copies of 'The Cynic's Book
of Girls.'... I'd never thought of him as a divil with the
women somehow."

"He could never get Helen Tellford to _look_ at him."

"'Religio Medici.' Is it religious or medical? It might be either, by my
Latin."

"One of those faith-healing things, I suppose. Emmanuel Movement. I'd
sit down if I were you.... Ah! There's Willie at last. Mind,
Carlisle,--don't you hear the steps?"

"Well, we're invited to look at his things--aren't--"

Her careless voice died, as both together became aware that these could
not possibly be the steps of a proprietor. The approaching feet halted
decorously without, and instead of the door's bursting open there came
only a manly knock upon it. Carlisle looked at her mother, and found
that her mother was looking at her with quite a tense expression. This
certainly was not the way they had wanted things to happen....

"Possibly it's only a tradesman," murmured Mrs. Heth, with hope; and she
added in a commanding voice: "Come in."

The door opened, with a certain stately dubiousness. Full on the
threshold stood Mr. Hugo Canning, no less: an impressive presence in
loose motor-coat of black fur. Mr. Canning stood agaze; it was to be
seen that he was taken considerably by surprise.

For the smallest known fraction of a second, the tableau held. Then
action began, dashingly.

"Why, Mr. Canning!" cried Mrs. Heth, heartily, rising. "What a very
pleasant surprise! So you're back with us again? Delightful!"

Mr. Canning came forward; he bowed with fine civility over the proffered
hand, voicing great pleasure in this remeeting. And then his eye went
flitting, with a certain interrogativeness, from mother to daughter.

"Such an agreeable coincidence," beamed the good little lady. "Or
perhaps this is not your first visit here, like ours? When did you
return? Carlisle...."

Carlisle, having forgotten more about the Great Game than her mother
would ever know, was far from effusive. Advancing half a step from the
bookcase, and offering the tips of white-gloved fingers, she said,
smiling perfunctorily:

"How nice to see you. And Willie Kerr, our very delinquent host,--do you
bring us