d." For the moment, it was the old Phebe who was speaking.
"Don't tell," she begged. "I'd rather die than have them know it at home.
How long are you going to stay here?"

"About a week, I only came over last night."

"I don't see why I am glad to see you," Phebe said, with characteristic
frankness. "I didn't know you much at Quantuck; it probably is because I
associate you with the home people. You used to be around with Hope a
good deal."

"What's the use of analyzing it?" he answered. "I'm here, and you are
homesick and glad to see me. That's enough for any practical purposes.
When are you going to play golf with me?"

"Can you really play?"

"I shouldn't dare ask you, if I couldn't. One thing that has brought me
over here is a thirsting to beat you."

"I haven't touched a club since I came."

"Did it ever occur to you, Miss McAlister, that you were very lazy?"

"Did it ever occur to you, Mr. Barrett, that you were outspoken?"

Like a pair of children, they laughed together, and Phebe suddenly
discovered that his eyes were singularly clear and frank. She also
discovered that the day was much finer than she had supposed, the
sunlight clearer, the air more bracing.

"We may as well cry quits," she said. "I fought you rather violently; you
retaliated by telling my family the one sealed chapter of my life."

"But if they don't know it--"

"They do know it; but not my share in it."

For a little distance they strolled along in silence. Then Phebe asked
abruptly,--

"You said, that night at Quantuck, that you were in the middle of some
work, when I ran into you. Did I break it up entirely; or have you ever
finished it?"

"Then you haven't seen the papers?" he asked, with boyish egotism.

"Yes, I always read them. What then?"

"My symphonic poem is to come out soon."

"Oh, I don't ever read the music notes. I don't know much about
music, anyway."

"And care less?" he asked a little shortly.

"Oh, I don't mind it much. I don't often go to concerts; but I like it
behind palms at receptions."

For a moment, he looked at her, in doubt whether or not she was jesting.
Then as her face suggested no humorous intent, his color came.

"What about it?" she inquired. "How is it coming out?"

"I didn't know as you would be interested."

"Of course. I am interested in you, even if I don't care a fig for your
music," Phebe answered, with a bluntness that should have been death to
sentiment.

"It is going t