d when tea came. Akers, having
shot his bolt, watched with interest the preparation for the little
ceremony, the old Georgian teaspoons, the Crown Derby cups, the
bell-shaped Queen Anne teapot, beautifully chased, the old pierced sugar
basin. Almost his gaze was proprietary. And he watched Lily, her casual
handling of those priceless treasures, her taking for granted of service
and beauty, her acceptance of quality because she had never known
anything else, watched her with possessive eyes.

When the servant had gone, he said:

"You are being very nice to me, in view of the fact that you did not
ask me to come. And also remembering that your family does not happen to
care about me."

"They are not at home."

"I knew that, or I should not have come. I don't want to make trouble
for you, child." His voice was infinitely caressing. "As it happens, I
know your grandfather's Sunday habits, and I met your father and mother
on the road going out of town at noon. I knew they had not come back."

"How do you know that?"

He smiled down at her. "I have ways of knowing quite a lot of things.
Especially when they are as vital to me as this few minutes alone with
you."

He bent toward her, as he sat behind the tea table.

"You know how vital this is to me, don't you?" he said. "You're not
going to cut me off, are you?"

He stood over her, big, compelling, dominant, and put his hand under her
chin.

"I am insane about you," he whispered, and waited.

Slowly, irresistibly, she lifted her face to his kiss.

CHAPTER XV

On the first day of May, William Wallace Cameron moved his trunk, the
framed photograph of his mother, eleven books, an alarm clock and Jinx
to the Boyd house. He went for two reasons. First, after his initial
call at the dreary little house, he began to realize that something had
to be done in the Boyd family. The second reason was his dog.

He began to realize that something had to be done in the Boyd family as
soon as he had met Mrs. Boyd.

"I don't know what's come over the children," Mrs. Boyd said, fretfully.
She sat rocking persistently in the dreary little parlor. Her chair
inched steadily along the dull carpet, and once or twice she brought up
just as she was about to make a gradual exit from the room. "They act so
queer lately."

She hitched the chair into place again. Edith had gone out. It was her
idea of an evening call to serve cakes and coffee, and a strong and
acrid odor was se