usin, my pathetic, unworldly
Phillida--and this cabaret entertainer! At the mere joining of their
names my senses revolted. What could they have in common? How had she
seen him? Having seen him, it was easy to understand how he had
fascinated her inexperience. Only, what was his object?

He had seen us, where we sat. I saw his dark eyes fix upon her and flash
some message. Her plain little face irradiated, her fingers
unconsciously twisting and wringing her napkin, she leaned forward to
watch and answer glance for glance.

I would rather not put into words my thoughts. Yet, I watched his
performance. In spite of myself, he held me with his swift, certain
skill, his vitality and youth.

He was gone, with the swooping suddenness of his appearance. The jazz
music clattered out. Phillida turned back to me and began to speak with
a hushed rapture that baffled and infuriated me.

"You understand, Cousin Roger? Now that you have seen him, you do
understand? No! Let me talk, please. Let me tell you, if I can. It began
last summer, at the school where I was cramming for college work. Oh,
how tired I was of study! How tired of it I am, and always shall be! I
think that side of me never will get rested. Then, in the woods, I met
him. He was stopping at a hotel not far away. I--we----"

I waited for her to go on. Instead, she abruptly spread wide her hands
in a gesture of helplessness.

"After all, I cannot tell you. Not even you, Cousin! He--he liked me. He
treated me just as a really, truly girl who would have partners at
dances and wear fluffy frocks and curl her hair. He thought I was
pretty!"

The naive wonder and triumph of her cry, the challenge in her brown
eyes, to my belief, were moving things. I registered some ugly mental
comments on the rearing of Phil and the kind of humility that is _not_
good for the soul.

"Why not?" I demanded. "Of course!"

She shook her head.

"No. Thank you, but--no! Not pretty, except to him. Only to him, because
he loves me."

I do not know what impatience I exclaimed. She checked me, leaning
across the table to grasp my hand in both hers.

"Hush! Oh, hush, dear Cousin Roger! For it is quite too late. We were
married six months ago; last autumn."

When I could, I asked:

"Married legally, beyond mistake? Were you not under eighteen years
old?"

"I was eighteen years and a half. There is no mistake at all. We walked
over to the city hall in the nearest town, and took out o