nner she did not notice at all.

"Well, my dear, what do you say? Shall we invite Mary?"

"It depends on Benis, of course," said Desire quietly.

"Benis? What has Benis to do with it? Not but that he enjoyed having
her here last time well enough. It is the privilege of the mistress of
the house to choose her guests. I hope you will not be slack in
claiming your privileges. They are much harder to obtain than one's
rights. My dear sister was careless. She allowed Benis's father to do
just as he pleased. Be warned in time."

"Do you wish Miss Davis to visit us, Benis?" Desire's hands were busy
with her teacup. Her eyes were still lowered.

"I have no wishes whatever in the matter," said the professor with what
might be considered admirable detachment.

"Tell Miss Davis we shall be delighted, Aunt," said Desire.

CHAPTER XXIV

Time, in quiet neighborhoods, like water in a pool, slips in and out
leaving the pool but little changed. Only when one is waiting for
something dreaded or desired do the days drag or hasten. Miss Davis was
to arrive upon the Friday following her telephone invitation. That left
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Desire found them very long.

Nothing more had been said of the personality of the expected visitor.
Desire did not ask, because she felt sure that, when she had seen, she
would know without asking. At present there was little enough to go
upon. The guest's name was Mary. Her hair was yellow. She had visited
in Bainbridge before. She and Benis had been friends. Beyond this there
was nothing save the professor's carelessness with the family Spode--an
annoying device for diverting attention in moments of embarrassment.

Against this circumstantial evidence there was the common-sense
argument that the real Mary of the professor's romance would hardly be
likely, under the circumstances, to propose herself as his aunt's guest.

Desire was inclined to take the common-sense view. Especially as just
about this time she came upon the track of another Mary, also with
yellow hair, who presented possibilities. The most suspicious thing
about this second Mary was that neither the professor nor his friend
Dr. Rogers had been able to tell Desire her first name. Now in
Bainbridge everyone knows the first name of everyone else. One does not
use it, necessarily, but one knows it. So that when Desire, having one
day noticed a gleam of particularly golden hair, asked innocently to
"whom i