"There are plenty like me," she said. "Don't be silly, Wallie. I hate

having my hand kissed."

"I wonder," he observed shrewdly, "whether that's really true, or

whether you just hate having me do it?"

When Nina came in he was drawing a rough sketch of his new power boat,

being built in Florida.

Nina's delay was explained by the appearance, a few minutes later, of

a rather sullen Annie with a tea tray. Afternoon tea was not a Wheeler

institution, but was notoriously a Sayre one. And Nina believed in

putting one's best foot foremost, even when that resulted in a state of

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unstable domestic equilibrium.

"Put in a word for me, Nina," Wallie begged. "I intend to ask Elizabeth

to go to the theater this week, and I think she is going to refuse."

"What's the play?" Nina inquired negligently. She was privately

determining that her mother needed a tea cart and a new tea service.

There were some in old Georgian silver-"'The Valley.' Not that the play matters. It's Beverly Carlysle."

"I thought she was dead, or something."

"Or something is right. She retired years ago, at the top of her

success. She was a howling beauty, I'm told. I never saw her. There was

some queer story. I've forgotten it. I was a kid then. How about it,

Elizabeth?"

"I'm sorry. I'm going Wednesday night."

He looked downcast over that, and he was curious, too. But he made no

comment save: "Well, better luck next time."

"Just imagine," said Nina. "She's going with Dick Livingstone. Can you

imagine it?"

But Wallace Sayre could and did. He had rather a stricken moment, too.

Of course, there might be nothing to it; but on the other hand, there

very well might. And Livingstone was the sort to attract the feminine

woman; he had gravity and responsibility. He was older too, and that

flattered a girl.

"He's not a bit attractive," Nina was saying. "Quiet, and--well, I don't

suppose he knows what he's got on."

Wallie was watching Elizabeth.

"Oh, I don't know," he said, with masculine fairness. "He's a good sort,

and he's pretty much of a man."

He was quite sure that the look Elizabeth gave him was grateful.

He went soon after that, keeping up an appearance of gaiety to the end,

and very careful to hope that Elizabeth would enjoy the play.

"She's a wonder, they say," he said from the doorway. "Take two hankies

along, for it's got more tears than 'East Lynne' and 'The Old Homestead'

put together."




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