tle,
tiny bit."

"No; not a little bit."

"Golf?" Head on one side.

"Not guilty."

"Swim?"

"Gloriously. Like a stone."

"Run?" Head on the other side.

"If there's any one after me."

"Ride? Every one rides down this-away, you know."

A sudden vague passion mouthed at Garrison's heart. "Ride?" he echoed,
eyes far away. "I--I think so."

"Only think so! Humph!" She swung a restless foot. "Can't you do
anything?"

"Well," critically. "I think I can eat, and sleep----"

"And talk nonsense. Let me see your hand." She took it imperiously, palm
up, in her lap, and examined it critically, as if it were the paw of
some animal. "My! it's as small as a woman's!" she exclaimed, in dismay.
"Why, you could wear my glove, I believe." There was one part disdain to
three parts amusement, ridicule, in her throaty voice.

"It is small," admitted Garrison, eyeing it ruefully. "I wish I had
thought of asking mother to give me a bigger one. Is it a crime?"

"No; a calamity." Her foot was going restlessly. "I like your eyes," she
said calmly, at length.

Garrison bowed. He was feeling decidedly uncomfortable. He had never met
a girl like this. Nothing seemed sacred to her. She was as frank as the
wind, or sun.

"You know," she continued, her great eyes half-closed, "I was awfully
anxious to see you when I heard you were coming home----"

"Why?"

She turned and faced him, her grey eyes opened wide. "Why? Isn't one
always interested in one's future husband?"

It was Garrison who was confused. Something caught at his throat. He
stammered, but words would not come. He laughed nervously.

"Didn't you know we were engaged?" asked the girl, with childlike
simplicity and astonishment. "Oh, yes. How superb!"

"Engaged? Why--why----"

"Of course. Before we were born. Your uncle and aunt and my parents had
it all framed up. I thought you knew. A cut-and-dried affair. Are you
not just wild with delight?"

"But--but," expostulated Garrison, his face white, "supposing the real
me--I mean, supposing I had not come home? Supposing I had been dead?"

"Why, then," she replied calmly, "then, I suppose, I would have a chance
of marrying some one I really loved. But what is the use of supposing?
Here you are, turned up at the last minute, like a bad penny, and here I
am, very much alive. Ergo, our relatives' wishes respectfully fulfilled,
and--connubial misery _ad libitum_. _Mes condolences_. If you feel half
as bad as I do, I