was a conceited ass.

After a short time Raymond began to feel the pressure of Nancy's little
body in his arms--when their dance was over. He began to resent other
arms about her. Her eyes were lovely--so blue and sympathetic. She never
set a man guessing. Raymond had had enough of guessing!

About that time Mrs. Tweksbury added an urge to her heart's desire that
she little suspected.

"Ken," she remarked one morning, "I dropped into the Brier Tea Room
yesterday." It was the _brier_ that signified the meaning of the place
to the old lady.

"Do you remember?"

Raymond nodded. Did he _not_ remember!

"The place is quite ordinary now--but the food is still superior. Miss
Gordon has come to her senses."

"Has she?" Raymond asked, lamely.

"Yes. And that girl--do you remember her, Ken?"

Raymond nodded again.

"Just as one might expect," Mrs. Tweksbury rattled on, keeping to her
one-tracked idea of things, "the minx ran off with a man, never
considering Miss Gordon at all."

"I doubt if Miss Gordon could see any one's side but her own," ventured
Raymond.

"Ken, that's unjust. The girl was a little fraud, and I think Miss
Gordon is heartily ashamed of herself for having resorted to such cheap
methods to get trade. She has young Scotch girls helping her now. No
more tricks, says Miss Gordon."

There was a pause.

"I thought for a time, Ken, that that girl was one of our kind--risking
far too much. I'm not usually mistaken in blood, but--the creature was a
good counterfeit; I'm glad she's gone. Say what you will, we older women
know the young man needs protection as well as the young women."

"Oh! Aunt Emily, cut it out!"

Raymond got up and stalked about. This added to Mrs. Tweksbury's
uneasiness.

For days after that talk Raymond had his uncomfortable hours. He wished
he knew about the girl of the tea room. It was "the girl" now. If she
were only unscathed the future would be safer for everyone.

But how could he--Raymond was getting into the meshes--how could he run
to safety and happiness and forget, if he had really harmed, in any way,
a girl who might have cared? The difference between playing with fire
and being burned by fire was clear now.

Had that hour, when the beast in him rampaged, killed forever the ideal
she had had? Was she saved by his madness? Or had she been driven on the
rocks? If he only knew!

Raymond still had moments when he believed that the girl would
materialize in his ow