op worrying and come home to
dinner, for I am as hungry as a bluefish."

"Mr. Barrett spent half the morning with us, Cicely," Hubert said,
as she came to the table. "Where were you, to miss your chances?"

"Gallivanting with another young man," she said. "But was he really and
truly there? What did he talk about?"

"Soft-shell crabs."

"How unromantic! What else?"

"Welsh rarebit, if you must know."

"Was that all? Didn't he talk any music?"

"No; only the music of his own speech. It's not manners to talk
shop, Cis."

"Oh, but I do wish I could meet him!" she sighed. "Is he ever coming here
to the Lodge?"

"Perhaps, if we hang Babe out for bait. He appears to have her on the
brain. He asked, to-day, apropos of nothing in particular, whether Miss
McAlister were not very intellectual."

"I hope you assured him that she was," Billy remarked.

"I did. Trust me for upholding the family reputation. I told him that she
had a receptive mind and would be an ornament to any profession."

"Hubert!" his sister remonstrated.

"Well, why not? Babe is able to hold her own, whether she turns her
attention to the ministry or to coaching athletic teams, and it is only
fair to give her the honest meed of praise."

"Cousin Ted," Cicely said earnestly, after a pause; "I wish you would ask
Mr. Barrett here to supper, some night. I want so much to meet him."

"Why, Cicely, I never supposed you were such a lion-hunter." Theodora's
tone, though gentle, conveyed a distinct rebuke.

"It isn't just silly wanting to meet him," she said, as her color came.
"I do want to know him, to hear him play and talk, because there isn't
anybody else whose work I love as I do his. I used to feel that way about
yours, Cousin Ted, and want to know you on account of your books; but now
I forget all about them. It's different with Mr. Barrett. He doesn't seem
especially interesting. He looks conceited and he toes in; but his work
is wonderful. Besides, I want to have him hear me play. He looks as if he
wouldn't mind telling disagreeable truths, and I want somebody to tell me
whether I am wasting all my time, trying to do something that is
impossible. I don't care whether he eats crabs or clams; he may eat with
his knife, if he wants to. All I'm after is his music."

Theodora laughed at her outburst.

"I will do what I can for you, Cis; but I am afraid it is a forlorn
hope. I don't believe he is a man who can be coaxed into talking shop,
and