e knew."

"I won't," Ted had promised glibly enough, and had kept his promise even
at the cost of lying to his uncle, a memory which hurt like the
toothache even now.

But looking at the girl now in her tawdry, inappropriate garb he
suffered a revulsion of feeling. What he had admired in her as good sport
quality seemed cheap now, his own conduct even cheaper. His reaction
against himself was fully as poignant as his reaction against her. He was
suddenly ashamed of his joy ride, ashamed that he had ever wished or
tried to kiss her, ashamed that he had fallen in with her suggestion for
a clandestine meeting this afternoon.

Possibly Madeline sensed that he was cold to her charms at the moment.
She flashed a shrewd glance at him.

"You don't like me as well to-day as you did last night," she challenged.

Caught, Ted tried half-heartedly to make denial, but the effort was
scarcely a success. He had yet to learn the art of lying gracefully
to a lady.

"You don't," she repeated. "You needn't try to pretend you do. You can't
fool me. You're getting cold feet already. You're remembering I'm
just--just a pick-up."

Ted winced again at that. He did not like the word "pick-up" either,
though to his shame he hadn't been above the thing itself.

"Don't talk like that, Madeline. You know I like you. You were immense
last night. Any other girl I know, except my sister Tony, would have had
hysterics and fainting fits and lord knows what else with half the excuse
you had. And you never made a bit of fuss about your head, though it must
have hurt like the deuce. I say, you don't think it is going to leave a
scar, do you?"

He leaned forward with genuine concern to examine the red wound.

"I think it is more than likely. Lot you'll care, Ted Holiday. You'll
never come back to see whether it leaves a scar or not. See that bee over
there nosing around that elderberry. Think he'll come back next week?
Not much. I know your kind," scornfully.

That bit into the lad's complacency.

"Of course, I care and of course, I'll come back," he protested, though a
moment before he had had not the slightest wish or purpose to see her
again, rather to the contrary.

"To see whether there is a scar?"

"To see you," he played up gallantly.

Her hard young face softened.

"Will you, honest, Ted Holiday? Will you come back?"

She put out her hand and touched his. Her eyes were suddenly wistful,
gentle, beseeching.

"Sure I'll come bac