de to be loved, fitted for finer things and truer things than
writing cabalistic signs on a tablet and transcribing them, later, on
the typewriter.

Leila had refused to be dropped from Mary's life. She came, whenever
she could, to walk a part of the way home with her friend, and the two
girls would board a car and ride to the edge of the town, preferring to
tramp along the edges of the Soldiers' Home or through the Park to the
more formal promenade through the city streets.

It was during these little adventures that Mary became conscious of
certain reserves in the younger girl. She was closely confidential,
yet the open frankness of the old days was gone.

Once Mary spoke of it. "You've grown up, all in a minute, Leila," she
said. "You're such a quiet little mouse."

Leila sighed. "There's so much to think about."

Watching her, Mary decided. "It is harder for her than for Barry. He
has his work. But she just waits and longs for him."

In waiting and longing, Little-Lovely Leila grew more mouse-like than
ever. And at last Mary spoke to the General. "She needs a change."

He nodded. "I know it. I am thinking of taking her over in the
spring."

"How lovely. Have you told her?"

"No--I thought it would be a grand surprise."

"Tell her now, dear General. She needs to look forward."

So the General, who had been kept in the house nearly all winter by his
rheumatism, spoke of certain baths in Germany.

"I thought I'd go over and try them," he informed his small daughter,
on the day after his talk with Mary, "and you could stop and call on
Barry."

"Barry!" She made a little rush toward him. "Dad, _Dad_, do you mean
it?"

"Yes."

She tucked her head into his shoulder and cried for happiness. "Dad,
I've missed him so."

With this hope held out to her, Little-Lovely Leila grew radiant. Once
more her feet danced along the halls, and the music of her voice
trilled bird-like in the big rooms.

Delilah, discussing it with her artist, said: "Leila makes me believe
in Romance with a big R. But I couldn't love like that."

Colin smiled. "You'd love like a lioness. I've subdued you outwardly,
but within you are still primitive."

"I wonder----" Delilah mused.

"The man for you," Colin turned to her suddenly, "is Porter Bigelow.
Of course I'm taking it from the artist's point of view. You're made
for each other--a pair of young gods--his red head just topping your
black one--It was that