they were.) He had taken infinite pains with her, guiding
her reading and her enjoyment of pictures in the paths of good taste. He
took her to concerts sometimes, too, though at this point her docility
ceased. She wouldn't be musical for anybody. He gave her much-needed
advice in dealing with social matters which her sudden prematurity
forced her to cope with. And with all this went a placidity which had no
part at all in her relations with her father.

She got the idea, during this period, that he meant, when she was a
little older, to ask her to marry him, and she sometimes speculated
whether, if he did, she would. There would be something beautifully
appropriate about it;--like the Professor's Love Story. Usually, though,
she terminated the scene with a tender refusal.

She had long known, of course, how unreal all this was. Wallace had faded
into complete invisibility at the time when she fell in love with Captain
Burch and quarreled with her father about him. She couldn't remember
afterward whether he had even been on the scene or not. But the savor of
their friendship, though mild, was a pleasant one and there was none of
her old acquaintances she'd rather have looked forward to to-day at
tea-time in the drawing-room. She knew exactly what he would be like;
just what they would say to each other. The only doubt in her mind was
whether he'd bring her chocolates or daffodils.

She guessed wrong. It was a box of candied strawberries that he gave her
as soon as their double hand-shake set him free. But nothing else came at
once to the surface to falsify her prevision. She remembered how he liked
his tea and was able to get an affectionate warmth into her voice, that
sounded real though strangely enough it wasn't, in agreeing with him how
like old times this was and how good it seemed to be home. Then came the
joy of having Rush back again, and the war, and the Peace
Conference,--only we weren't going to talk about things like that. And
then Alan Seeger, Rupert Brooke, Conningsby Dawson.

But oddly enough, she felt herself going back to still older times, to
the abominable little girl who had yielded to irresistible desires such
as making faces at him and rubbing the nap of his silk hat the wrong
way. She repressed, vigorously, this lawless vein. She was determined for
this one day to be just as nice as he tried, so hard, to think she was.
But with this resolution occupying her mind the talk presently ran rather
th