was common in their intercourse. If Phil had
killed her neighbor, would it have been proper for the defense to prove
that the quinces were improperly prepared? Kirkwood insisted that such
testimony would have been grossly irregular and that an able jurist like
Judge Walters would certainly have rejected it. They played with the
idea of Phil's heinous crime until they wore it out.

"Put on the black cap and tell me when I'm to die," said Phil. "I'm
guilty. I really did kill the woman and I buried her under the plum tree
in her back yard. Now let's think of something cheerful."

Nan and Kirkwood dropped out of the circle a little later, and Phil
heard them talking in subdued tones in the library. Rose withdrew to the
window and became absorbed in a book.

"I saw you and Charlie that day you climbed up the bluff," said Fred the
moment Rose was out of hearing. "I hope you won't do that any more. I
hope you won't ever do things like that again!" he ended earnestly.

"It was just a lark; why shouldn't I do it?"

"The chances were that you'd fall and be killed. You had no right to
take the chance. And Charlie had no right to let you do it."

"Charlie hadn't anything to do with it. He couldn't have helped
himself," said Phil defensively.

"Then the rest of them down on the creek should have stopped you. It was
the craziest thing I ever saw."

"I suppose it was silly," Phil admitted tamely, "but it's all over now."

It was in her heart to say that nothing greatly mattered, and yet there
was a certain comfort in knowing that he cared. His blue eyes told her
frankly how much he cared; and she was not unmindful of the wistful
smile with which he regarded her.

His glance wandered from her face to the long-stemmed roses on the
mantel-shelf behind her. He knew perfectly well where those roses had
come from. She saw the resentment in his eyes. The resumption of social
relations between her aunts and the Holtons that had brought her in
contact with these nephews of Jack Holton struck her in a new light,
with Fred there before her, with Charles's roses flaunting themselves
unrebuked in her father's house. She had no business to be receiving
Fred Holton; Charles's flowers assumed suddenly a dire significance. She
meant to be rid of them the moment she could do so without attracting
attention. It was on her tongue to say something unkind to Fred; her
loyalty to her mother seemed to demand it. And yet neither Fred nor
Charles h