his heart is. A man has to love a nice girl or
two before he is educated to know the right one when he meets her. I
don't pity Yeager--not a great deal, anyhow. It's life, you know," I
concluded cheerfully.

"Oh, I see. A man has to love a nice girl or two as an educative
process." Her voice trailed into the rising inflection of a question.
"Then the right girl ought to thank me for helping to prepare Mr. Yeager
for her--if I am."

"That's a point of view worth considering," I assented.

"But I suppose she will never even know my name," she mused.

"Most likely not," was my complacent answer.

Whereupon she let me have her thrust with a little purr of amusement in
her voice.

"Any more than I shall know what nice girls prepared you for me."

"_Touche_," I conceded with a laugh. "I didn't know you were the kind of
young woman that lays traps for a fellow to tumble into."

"And I didn't know you were a war-worn veteran toughened by previous
campaigns," she countered gaily. "You've been very liberally educated,
didn't you say?"

"No, I didn't say. This is how I put it to myself: A boy owes something
to the nice girls all about him. One would not like to think, for
instance, that the youths of Tennessee had been so insensible as never
to have felt a flutter when your long lashes drifted their way," I
diplomatically suggested.

"How nicely you wrap it up," she said with her low, soft laugh. "And
must my heart have fluttered, too, for them? Unless it has, I won't be
properly educated for you, shall I?"

"Ah, that's the difference. You are born perfect lovers, but we have to
acquire excellence through experience."

"Oh!"

An interjection can sometimes express more than words. My sweetheart's
left me wondering just what she meant. There was amusement in it, but
there was, too, a demure suppression to which I had not the key.

She, too, I judged, had known a few love episodes in her life. Perhaps
she had been engaged before, as is sometimes the custom among Southern
girls. The thought gave me a queer little stab of pain.

Yeager came out of the deck pavilion as we passed.

"I say, let's have some music, good people."

I looked at my watch.

"My turn at the wheel. Maybe Blythe will join you."

He did. From the pilot-house I could hear his clear tenor and Evelyn's
sweet soprano filling the night with music. Presently they drifted into
patriotic songs, in which Tom came out strong if not melodious. But
whe