does the new boarder come on?"

"Very well. We really don't mind having him at all, he's so quiet, and
Father enjoys his table talk."

"Father does, but daughter doesn't?"

"Oh, yes, I do--only he doesn't talk much to me. I sit and listen to
their discussions--and jump up to wait on them so often that I sometimes
lose the thread."

"The duffer! Why doesn't he get up and wait on you?"

Georgiana laughed. "Jimps, we're going to have another guest."

"Another man?" The question came quickly.

"Not at all. A girl--my cousin, Jeannette Crofton. At least I'm writing
to ask her for the fortnight before Easter."

"Those rich Crofton relations of yours who hold their heads so high for
no particular reason except that it helps them to forget their feet are
on the earth?"

"James Stuart, what have I ever said of them to make you speak like
that?"

"Never mind; go on. Is it the girl whose picture gets into the Sunday
papers--entirely against her will, of course--as the daughter of Thomas
Crofton? She's reported engaged, from time to time, and then the report
is denied. She's----"

"I shall tell you no more about her," said Georgiana Warne, with her
head held quite as high as if she belonged to that branch of the family
to whom James Stuart had so irreverently alluded.

"All right. I'm not interested in her anyhow, and you'll want your
breath for the run down. Come on, George; one more spurt and we're
up.... All ready. Take hold of my hand. Come on!"

In the March starlight the two ran hand in hand down the long, steep
Harmon Hill which led from the east into the little town. Stuart's grip
was tight, or more than once Georgiana would have slipped on the rough
iciness of the descent. But she did not falter at the rush of it, and
she was not panting, only breathing quickly, when they came to a
standstill upon the level.

"Good lungs, those of yours, George," commented Stuart, in the frank
manner in which he might have said it to a younger brother. "You haven't
played basket ball and rowed in your 'Varsity boat for nothing. Sure
you're not letting up a bit on all that training, now that you're back,
baking beans for boarders?"

"And sweeping their rooms, and carrying up wood for their fires,
and----"

"What? Do you mean to say that literary light allows you to tote wood
for him?" They were walking on rapidly now. "I'll be over in the morning
and take up a pile that'll leave no room for him to put his feet. What's