ting her face up to his. "You just repeated
what you'd been taught to say. Use your brains, Eleanor. What possible
harm can there be in our quietly sitting out under the light of the
stars, instead of on this crowded piazza with that distracting din going
on inside?"

"Of course there isn't really."

"Well, then, come on"; and he led the way across the strip of dewy lawn
and handed her into the car.

Eleanor experienced a delicious sense of forbidden joy as she sank on the
soft cushions and looked back at the brilliantly lighted club-house. The
knowledge that in many of those other cars parked along the roadway other
couples were cozily twosing, and that not a girl among them but would
have changed places with her, added materially to her enjoyment.

It was not that Harold Phipps was popular. She had to admit that he had
more enemies than friends. But rumors of his wealth, his position, and
his talent, together with his distinguished appearance, had made him the
most sought after officer stationed at the camp. That he should have
swooped down from his eagle flight with Uncle Ranny's sophisticated group
to snatch her out of the pool of youthful minnows was a compliment she
did not forget.

"Well," he said, lazily sinking into his corner of the car and observing
her with satisfaction, "haven't you something pretty to say to me, after
I've come all these miles to hear it?"

Eleanor laughed in embarrassment. It was much easier to say pretty things
in letters than to say them face to face.

"There is one thing that I always have to say to you," she said, "and
that's thank you. These orchids are perfectly sweet, and the candy that
came yesterday----"

"Was also _perfectly_ sweet? Come, Eleanor, let's skip the formalities.
Were you or were you not glad to see me?"

"Why, of course I was."

"Well, you didn't look it. I am not used to having girls treat me as
casually as you do. How much have you missed me?"

"Heaps. How's the play coming on?"

"Marvelously! We've worked out all the main difficulties, and I signed up
this week with a manager."

"Not _really!_ When will it be produced?"

"Sometime in the spring. I go on to New York next month to make the final
arrangements. When do you go?"

"I don't know that I am going. I'm trying my best to get grandmother's
consent."

"You must go anyhow," said Harold. "I want you to have three months at
the Kendall School, and then do you know what I am going to do?"