musedly. "Well, most men would have tried it. I
never was one to make myself common, but once in a while--well! I
haven't much opinion of a man who wouldn't snatch a kiss from a girl he
admired to death, when he got a chance." She turned upon Isabel, curious
in her turn. "Of course you are lots older than I am--twenty-five or
six, aren't you? And I am only just eighteen. But I always used to watch
and wonder about you before you went away. I knew you were not the least
bit like the other girls. I wonder what it is like to be different from
other people. I always feel just like everybody else."

"So do I," said Isabel, encouragingly. "It was only circumstances that
made me appear different."

"But you know so much!" sighed Miss Boutts. "You speak a lot of
languages, and you took all the honors at the High School--and then all
those years in Europe! I wonder Mr. Gwynne will even look at any of
us."

"Men like your sort much better," said Isabel, dryly. "Do be nice to him
to-day, and entertain him in your own style while I dig through those
tiresome books. I sha'n't be long."

Gwynne looked more than hospitable as he ran down the veranda steps to
assist his guests out of the high buggy. When they had taken off their
dust-cloaks and stood side by side he reflected that he had seldom seen
two such handsome girls together. Isabel was far more simply dressed
than Miss Boutts, but her little black jacket fitted perfectly, and
there was a touch of pale blue at the neck, and in the lining of her
large black hat, that deepened the blue of her eyes under their heavy
black brows and lashes. Gwynne had never seen her look so girlish and
ingenuous. She kept her profile from him and he saw only her smiling
eyes and red half-opened mouth.

"I had to telephone to make sure you would be at home," she said. "They
say I mustn't come out here alone, and I didn't want Miss Boutts to be
bored while I was at work. I'll leave you two here on the porch. That
will be quite proper."

As she nodded and went into the living-room she saw Gwynne turn to the
lovely glowing girl left on his hands, with more intensity than she had
seen him display since Mrs. Kaye took her black eyes and fine bust out
of his life. As she made herself comfortable in his deepest chair she
heard the girlish shallow voice launch out into a eulogy of the scenery.
Gwynne responded with some enthusiasm; for a time there was a broken
duet, and then the feminine voice settle