touched the girl's brown, boyish
little hand.

"Really, Miss Eve," he stammered, "I'm awfully sorry you got hurt!
Truly I am! Truly it made me feel awfully squeamish! Really I've been
thinking a lot about you these last few days! Honestly I have! Never
in all my life did I ever carry any one as little and hurt as you
were! It sort of haunts me, I tell you. Isn't there something I could
do for you?"

"Something you could do for me?" said little Eve Edgarton, staring.
Then again the heavy lashes came shadowing down across her cheeks.

"I haven't had any very great luck," she said, "in finding you ready
to do things for me."

"What?" gasped Barton.

The big eyes lifted and fell again. "There was the attic," she
whispered a bit huskily. "You wouldn't rent me your attic!"

"Oh, but--I say!" grinned Barton. "Some real thing, I mean! Couldn't
I--couldn't I--read aloud to you?" he articulated quite distinctly, as
Edgarton came rustling back into the room with his arms full of
papers.

"Read aloud?" gibed Edgarton across the top of his spectacles. "It's a
daring man, in this unexpurgated day and generation, who offers to
read aloud to a lady."

"He might read me my geology notes," suggested little Eve Edgarton
blandly.

"Your geology notes?" hooted her father. "What's this? Some more of
your new-fangled 'small talk'? Your geology notes?" Still chuckling
mirthlessly, he strode over to the big table by the window and,
spreading out his orchid data over every conceivable inch of space,
settled himself down serenely to compare one "flower of mystery" with
another.

Furtively for a moment Barton sat studying the gaunt, graceful figure.
Then quite impulsively he turned back to little Eve Edgarton's
scowling face.

"Nevertheless, Miss Eve," he grinned, "I should be perfectly delighted
to read your geology notes to you. Where are they?"

"Here," droned little Eve Edgarton, slapping listlessly at the loose
pile of pages beside her.

Conscientiously Barton reached out and gathered the flimsy papers into
one trim handful. "Where shall I begin?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter," murmured little Eve Edgarton.

"What?" said Barton. Nervously he began to fumble through the pages.
"Isn't there any beginning?" he demanded.

"No," moped little Eve Edgarton.

"Nor any end?" he insisted. "Nor any middle?"

"N--o," sighed little Eve Edgarton.

Helplessly Barton plunged into the unhappy task before him. On page
nine there we