himself heard. "Overlook it, won't you? I didn't know you were such a
fool as not to be able to see when a chapter in a man's life is closed.
Now let's begin at the beginning again. You who know all there is to
know about girls, you for whom the exception proves the rule that you
can manage them with one hand tied behind you,--what do you think of
the exception? Tell me now. What do you think of Sylvia?"

"No, no, Judge," gasped Dunham. "Let me off. I'm exhausted."

"Brace up. I want to know."

"Well," returned John, wiping his eyes, "I think she made a tardy
arrival on this planet. She's too late for her century."

"An old-fashioned girl, eh? I rather like that."

"Older fashioned than you're thinking of. She belongs in legends, and
all sorts of stories that begin 'Once upon a time.' Do you catch the
idea? She's the exact opposite in every respect of that excellent lady
we--no, I mean I have just been talking about,--her aunt."

The judge's face fell, though his eagle glance was sharp.

"Yet, it is the Lacey blood that's done it," he said. "You mean she's
erratic, visionary, unpractical."

"Yes. I mean that I think her very charming bonnet, if she ever wore
one, would have a bee in it."

"John, that's worse than I feared," replied the judge dejectedly.
"Confound Sam Lacey! She's a rather engaging girl with it all?"

"Immensely so. In fact, to such an extent that most people would prefer
to follow her moods rather than to revel in the excellent qualities of
a good housekeeper."

"What does Edna think?" asked the lawyer.

"Oh, come, come, Judge!" protested Dunham. "If you have the man's
standpoint,--a wholly admiring standpoint, I hope you understand,--that
ought to satisfy you for one day."

"I shall go back with you to Hawk Island," announced Judge Trent
briefly. "Sylvia shall go too. I wish to observe her outside this
atmosphere."

Meanwhile Sylvia had borne Thinkright away, in front of the house to
the shade of the AEolian pine tree, and pulled him down beside her on a
rustic seat.

"Oh, Thinkright, it's ages since you and I sat here last."

"Happy ages, I hope," he answered.

"Yes, I've been living a poem ever since I said goodby to you, until
this noon. I've been walking on air,--living in a happy dream; then
suddenly a bucket of cold water was dashed over me, and I came to
myself."

"Are you sure it was yourself you came to?" asked Thinkright, for he
saw the trouble in the eyes he loved. "So