My heart warmed at the memory of Olivia. Verily

the chaplain was right-she was many girls in one!

Stoddard dropped a lump of sugar into his coffee.

"Miss Devereux begged hard for her, but Sister Theresa

couldn't afford to keep her. Her influence on the

other girls was bad."

"That's to Miss Devereux's credit," I replied. "You

needn't wait, Bates."

"Olivia was too popular. All the other girls indulged

her. And I'll concede that she's pretty. That gipsy

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face of hers bodes ill to the hearts of men-if she ever

grows up."

"I shouldn't exactly call it a gipsy face; and how

much more should you expect her to grow? At twenty

a woman's grown, isn't she?"

He looked at me quizzically.

"Fifteen, you mean! Olivia Armstrong-that little

witch-the kid that has kept the school in turmoil all

the fall?"

There was decided emphasis in his interrogations.

"I'm glad your glasses are full, or I should say-"

There was, I think, a little heat for a moment on both

sides.

"The wires are evidently crossed somewhere," he said

calmly. "My Olivia Armstrong is a droll child from

Cincinnati, whose escapades caused her to be sent home

for discipline to-day. She's a little mite who just about

comes to the lapel of your coat, her eyes are as black

as midnight-"

"Then she didn't talk to Pickering and his friends

at the station this morning-the prettiest girl in the

world-gray hat, gray coat, blue eyes? You can have

your Olivia; but who, will you tell me, is mine?"

I pounded with my clenched hand on the table until

the candles rattled and sputtered.

Stoddard stared at me for a moment as though he

thought I had lost my wits. Then he lay back in his

chair and roared. I rose, bending across the table toward

him in my eagerness. A suspicion had leaped into

my mind, and my heart was pounding as it roused a

thousand questions.

"The blue-eyed young woman in gray? Bless your

heart, man, Olivia is a child; I talked to her myself on

the platform. You were talking to Miss Devereux.

She isn't Olivia, she's Marian!"

"Then, who is Marian Devereux-where does she

live-what is she doing here-?"

"Well," he laughed, "to answer your questions in order,

she's a young woman; her home is New York;

she has no near kinfolk except Sister Theresa, so she

spends some of her time here."

"Teaches-music-"

"Not that I ever heard of! She does a lot of things

well,-takes cups in golf tournaments and is the nimblest

hand at tennis you ever saw. Also, she's a fine

musician and plays the organ tremendously."

"Well, she told me she was Olivia!" I said.

"I should think she would, when you refused to meet

her; when you had ignored her and Sister Theresa,-

both of them among your grandfather's best friends,

and your nearest neighbors here!"




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