you are
to me. We'll just let him alone. There's things enough to talk about,
I should hope, without making fun of that poor boy."

"Suppose I give you one of my late photographs in exchange for the
cherub with the curly locks."

"I don't want it."

Justin was a trifle taken aback. He had hardly made the offer before
he had accused himself of indiscretion. To be sure Persis was taking a
very proper attitude. She showed no inclination to presume on the
sentimental phase of their former acquaintance. She had said
distinctly that they were strangers. And yet it was as well to be
guarded. The bluntness of her retort gave him an almost rueful
conviction of the needlessness of caution.

The flame of Persis' anger had burned itself out almost immediately,
but the red embers still glowed in her eyes, and her cheeks were hot.
She changed the subject with no pretense at finesse: "You seen Minerva
Leveridge yet?"

"I don't seem to recall any one of that name."

"She was Minerva Bacon, and she married Joe Leveridge, old Doctor
Whitely's nephew. You must remember him. Quiet sort of boy with a
cast in his eye."

"Oh, yes. I remember the fellow now. His name was Leveridge, was it?"

"Yes. He died six or seven years ago. He left Minerva comf'tably
fixed, judging from the mourning she wore. When a widow's crepe veil
reaches to her heels it's pretty sure her husband left her some life
insurance. You been to the Sinclairs' yet?"

"Why, yes." Justin looked a little guilty. As a matter of fact he had
found time to drop in to see Annabel more than once. "I met Mrs.
Sinclair on the street near the hotel one afternoon, and she asked me
to call."

"That's why she was in such a hurry for the net," thought Persis.
Aloud she said: "Her Diantha is an awfully pretty girl, as much of a
belle as ever her mother was."

"No? I haven't happened to see the girl, but it's hard to think of
Mrs. Sinclair as the mother of a grown daughter."

Ware realized with amazement that he would not again be allowed to
broach the subject of the photograph. He had that fondness for playing
with fire which so frequently survives in the adults of both sexes, and
he gave the conversation a semi-sentimental twist more than once, only
to be brought back sharply to practicalities by the lady in gray.
There was no doubt that Persis meant to be mistress of the situation.

"I shall see you very soon again," he said, as he shook hands for good