left them Patsy turned toward Gregory Jessup again and
asked, softly: "Supposing Billy Burgeman has fallen among strangers?
If they saw he was in need of friendliness, would it be so hard to do
him a kindness?"

The man shook his head. "The hardest thing in the world. Billy
Burgeman has been proud and lonely all his life, and it's an infernal
combination. You may know he's out and out aching for a bit of
sympathy, but you never offer it; you don't dare. We could never get
him to own up as a little shaver how neglected and lonely he was and
how he hated to stay in that horrible, gloomy Fifth Avenue house. It
wasn't until he had grown up that he told me he used to come and play
as often as they would let him--just because mother used to kiss him
good-by as she did her own boys."

Gregory Jessup looked beyond the firs to the little lake, and there
was that in his face which showed that he was wrestling with a
treasured memory. When he spoke again his voice sounded as if he had
had to grip it hard against a sign of possible emotion.

"You know Billy's father never gave him an allowance; he didn't
believe in it--wouldn't trust Billy with a cent. Poor little
shaver--never had anything to treat with at school, the way the rest
of the boys did; and never even had car-fare--always walked, rain or
shine, unless his father took him along with him in the machine.
Billy used to say even in those days he liked walking better. Mother
died in the winter--snowy time--when Billy was about twelve; and he
borrowed a shovel from a corner grocer and cleared stoops all
afternoon until he'd made enough to buy two white roses. Father
hadn't broken down all day--wouldn't let us children show a tear; but
when Billy came in with those roses--well, it was the children who
finally had to cheer father up."

Patsy sprang to her feet with a little cry. "I must be going." She
turned to the others, a ring of appeal in her voice. "Can't we hurry
a bit? There's a deal of work at Arden to be done, and no one but
myself to be doing it."

"Rehearsals?" asked Janet Payne.

And Patsy, unheeding, nodded her head.

There was a babel of nonsense in the returning car. Patsy contributed
her share the while her mind was busy building over again into a
Balmacaan coat and plush hat the semblance of a man.

"Sure, I'm not saying I can make out his looks or the color of his
eyes and hair, but he's real, for all that. Holy Saint Patrick, but
he's a real man at