reak down though
she felt more like it than at any time since her arrival. She kept
silent and let him pat her clumsily and heavily till she could command
her voice. "I'm glad you want me to go, Teddy."

"You bet I do. You stick, Sis! _And don't you let Carter spill the
beans!_"

"Why, Ted, he----"

"You keep an eye on that bird," said the boy, grimly. "You keep your
lamps lit!"

She repeated his words to her stepfather as they drove to the station.
"Why do you suppose he said that, Stepper?"

Stephen Lorimer shrugged. "I don't think he meant anything specific,
T. S., but you know the kids have never cared for Carter."

"I know; it's that he isn't their type. They haven't understood him."

"Or--it's that they have."

"Stepper! You, too?" Honor was driving and she did not turn her head to
look at him, but he knew the expression of her face from the tone of her
voice. "Do you mean that, seriously?"

"I think I do, T. S. Look here,--we might as well talk things over
straight from the shoulder this morning. Shall we?"

"Please do, Stepper." She turned into a quieter street and drove more
slowly, so that she was able to face him for an instant, her face
troubled.

"Want me to drive?"

"No,--I like the feel of the wheel again, after so long. You talk,
Stepper."

"Well, T. S., I've no tangible charge to make against Carter, save that
his influence has been consistently bad for Jimsy since the first day
he limped into our ken. Consistently and--_persistently_ bad, T. S. You
know--since we're not dealing in persiflage this morning--that Carter is
quite madly, crazily, desperately in love with you?"

"I--yes, I suppose that's what you'd call it, Stepper. He--rather lost
his head last summer,--the night before you sailed."

"But the night before we sailed," said her stepfather, drawing from his
neatly card-indexed memory, "it was with me that you held a little last
session."

"Yes,--but on my way upstairs. The lift had stopped, you know. I was
frightfully angry at him and said something cruel, but the next morning
he looked so white and wretched and wrote me such a pathetic letter,
asking me to forgive and forget and all that sort of thing, and I sent
him a wire to the steamer, saying I would."

"Ah! That was his telegram. We wondered."

"And he's been very nice since, in the few letters I've had from him."

"I daresay. But Ted's right, Top Step. In the parlance of the saints you
_do_ 'want to keep your l