erstanding. There flashed upon her keen mind a
thought--startling, almost incredible. It was as though in some strange
fashion, in the unlikeliest spot, she had come upon a rare flower, too
marvelous to breathe upon. Her quick wits held it off guardedly for
bewildered inspection. Could it be possible that it was for her father
that Nan had yielded to tears? Beneath liking and sympathy might there
lie a deeper feeling than friendship in this woman's heart? There had
always seemed to be an even balance of regard for the sisters in all her
father's intercourse with Buckeye Lane. They had been a refuge and
resource, but she had imagined that he went there as she did because it
was the very pleasantest place in town to visit. Whether he admired one
more than the other had never been a problem in her mind, though now she
recalled the intimations of her aunts--intimations which she had cast
into the limbo to which she committed their views and insinuations on
most topics. Phil stood by the black slate mantel of the shelf-lined
sitting-room, her heart beating fast. But Nan turned to her laughingly.

"It's old age, Phil! Rose always tells me that I must stop peppering my
victuals or I'll become one of the sobbing sisterhood one of these days.
What have you been reading lately, Phil?"

"Just finished 'The Gray Knight of Picardy.' Daddy didn't want me to
read it--said it was only half good and that I oughtn't to waste time on
books that weren't a hundred per cent good. I think it's bully. I'm
crazy about it. It's so beautifully, deliciously funny. And Nan--why,
Nan, it sounds just like you!"

"Elucidate," remarked Nan carelessly.

"Oh, it's like you, some of it--the general absurdness of it all; and
then some of it is so amazingly like dad--when he has a high-falutin'
fit and talks through his hat in the old Morte Darthur lingo. It's
Malory brought up to date, with a dash of Quixote. I nearly died at that
place where the knight breaks his lance on the first automobile he ever
saw and then rides at the head of the circus parade. It's certainly a
ticklesome yarn."

She advanced upon Nan dramatically, with arm outstretched, pointing
accusingly. "Look me in the eye, Nan! Did you and daddy frame that up
between you? Be careful now! Dad wrote prodigiously all last winter--let
me think it was a brief; and you and he used to get your heads together
a good deal, private like, and I feigned not to notice because I thought
you were talk