rance
comes due next month. I don't want to seem to be stingy, you know that;
but--" he halted miserably.

"Need them!" It was mild vexation. "Of course I need them, silly. A girl
can't go around when the thermometer's below zero with net shirtwaists
and open-work stockings."

"Of course," quickly. With an effort the smile returned. "Order what you
need. I'll take care of that too"--he was going to repeat "somehow," then
caught himself--"as soon as I can," he substituted.

The girl looked at him smilingly.

"Poor old Harry, henpecked Harry," she bantered gayly. Crossing over, her
arms went around his neck. "Have an awful lot of troubles, don't you,
professor man!"

The argument was irresistible and Randall capitulated.

"No, none whatever," he answered, as he was expected to answer; and once
more sweet peace rested on the house of Randall.

Back in her place opposite once more Margery looked at her husband
seriously, a pucker of perplexity on her smooth face.

"By the way," she digressed, "I've been wondering for some time now if
anything's wrong with Elice and Steve. Has he hinted anything to you?"

"No; why?"

"Oh, I don't know anything definite; but he's been here three evenings
the last week, you know, Sunday evening for one at that, and it looks
queer."

"I've noticed it too," admitted Randall, "and he's coming again this
evening. He asked permission and I couldn't well refuse. Not that I don't
like to have him come," quickly, "but it interferes with my lectures next
morning."

"And with our own evenings. I--just wish he wouldn't come so often."

Randall said nothing, but unconsciously he was stroking the bald spot
already appearing on the crown of his head in a way he had when worried.

"And, besides," justified Margery, "it isn't treating Elice right. I
think it's a shame."

This time the man looked up.

"She didn't say anything, intimate anything, I hope?" he hesitated.

"Of course not. It isn't her way. She's--queer for a woman, Elice is; she
never gets confidential, no matter how good an opportunity you offer." A
pause followed that spoke volumes. "Agnes Simpson, though, says there is
something the matter--with Steve at least. They're talking about it in
the department."

"Talking about what, Margery?" soberly. "He's a friend of ours, you
know."

"Yes, I know," the voice was swift with a pent-up secret, "and we've
tried hard to be nice to him; but, after all, we're not to blame that
h