"How funny," laughed Camilla. "You asked me that twice before."

"Did I? I forgot," said Mrs. Paige with a shrug; and, bending over

again, became exceedingly busy with her trowel until the fire in

her cheeks had cooled.

"Every woman that ever saw him becomes infatuated with Phil

Berkley," said Camilla cheerfully. "I was. You will be. And the

worst of it is he's simply not worth it."

"I--thought not."

"Why did you think not?"

"I don't know why."

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"He can be fascinating," said Camilla reflectively, "but he

doesn't always trouble himself to be."

"Doesn't he?" said Ailsa with a strange sense of relief.

Camilla hesitated, lowered her voice.

"They say he is fast," she whispered. Ailsa, on her knees, turned

and looked up.

"Whatever that means," added Camilla, shuddering. "But all the

same, every girl who sees him begins to adore him immediately until

her parents make her stop."

"How silly," said Ailsa in a leisurely level voice. But her heart

was beating furiously, and she turned to her roses with a blind

energy that threatened them root and runner.

"How did you happen to think of him at all?" continued Camilla

mischievously.

"He called on--Mrs. Craig this afternoon."

"I didn't know she knew him."

"They are related--distantly--I believe----"

"Oh," exclaimed Camilla. "I'm terribly sorry I spoke that way

about him, dear----"

"I don't care what you say about him," returned Ailsa Paige

fiercely, emptying some grains of sand out of one of her gloves;

resolutely emptying her mind, too, of Philip Berkley.

"Dear," she added gaily to Camilla, "come in and we'll have tea and

gossip, English fashion. And I'll tell you about my new duties at

the Home for Destitute Children--every morning from ten to twelve,

my dear, in their horrid old infirmary--the poor little

darlings!--and I would be there all day if I wasn't a selfish,

indolent, pleasure-loving creature without an ounce of womanly

feeling--Yes I am! I must be, to go about to galleries and dances

and Philharmonics when there are motherless children in that

infirmary, as sick for lack of love as for the hundred and one

ailments distressing their tender little bodies."

But over their tea and marmalade and toast she became less

communicative; and once or twice the conversation betrayed an

unexpected tendency to drift toward Berkley.




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