y for an
English course! A college girl!" And I burst into peals of mirth.

"That's right. Go ahead. I deserve it," urged Mr. Jennings
self-depreciatively. "How I blunder! Anyhow I've found you can laugh
as well as cry, and that's something. Perhaps now," he continued,
"seeing I'm such a failure as a Sherlock Holmes, you will be so kind
as to tell me yourself who you are. Do you live here? I never saw you
before. I'm sure you're a stranger. Where is your home, Miss Vars?"

"Where is my home?" I repeated, and then paused an instant. Where
indeed? "A wardrobe-trunk is my home, Mr. Jennings," I replied.

"Oh!" he took it up. "A wardrobe-trunk. Rather a small house for you
to develop your individuality in, very freely, I should say!"

"Yes, but at least nothing hangs within its walls but of my own
choosing."

"And it's convenient for house-cleaning, too," he followed it up. "But
see here, is there room for two in it, because I was just going to ask
to call."

"I usually entertain my callers in the garden," I primly announced.

"How delightful! I much prefer gardens." And we laughed again. "Which
way?" he abruptly inquired. "Which way to your garden, please?" We had
come to a crossing. I stopped, and he beside me.

"Why, I'm sure I don't know!" Nothing about me looked familiar. "These
winding streets of yours! I'm afraid I'm lost," I confessed. "You'll
have to put me on a car--a Greene Hill Avenue car. I know my way alone
then. At least I believe it's a Greene Hill Avenue car. They've just
moved there--my sister. Perhaps you know her--Mrs. William Maynard."

"Lucy Maynard!" he exclaimed. "I should say I did! Are you--why, are
you her sister?"

He had heard about me then! Of course. How cruel!

"Yes. Why?" I managed to inquire.

"Oh, nothing. Only I've met you," he brought out triumphantly. "I met
you at dinner, two or three years ago--at your sister's house. We're
old friends," he said.

"Are we?" I asked in wonder. "Are we old friends?" I wanted to add,
"How nice!"

He looked so steady and substantial, standing there--so kind and
understanding. Any one would prize him for an old friend. I gazed up at
him. The drifting mist had covered his broad chest and shoulders with a
glistening veil of white. It shone like frost on the nap of his soft
felt hat. It sparkled on his eyebrows and the lashes of his fine eyes.
"How nice," I wanted to add. But a desire not to flirt with this man
honestly possessed me. Besides