from behind the
portieres that divided the library from the hall. Hippy's round face was
thrust engagingly into view. He had slipped in the side door,
unobserved.

"There he is, Reddy. How did he get in so quietly?" David took a
vengeful step forward. The face disappeared.

"Just wait until I hang up my overcoat," threatened Reddy.

"Don't let him hang it up, Nora. If you value the safety of your
husband, make him stand and hold it," pleaded the plaintive voice.

"Here, Reddy, give me your hat and coat," ordered Nora cruelly.

"Ha! I defy you." Hippy suddenly bounced from behind the curtain into
the midst of the group in the hall. "I would defy forty David Nesbits
and fifty Reddy Brooks for a kiss from my fair lady." He bowed before
Mrs. Gray.

"Bless you, Hippy," she said, as she kissed his fat cheek, "that was
nicely said."

"I am always saying nice things," assured Hippy airily. "Better still
they are always true things. There are some persons, though, who can't
stand the white light of truth. May I rely upon you for protection, Mrs.
Gray? Alas, I am now alone in the world. The person who is supposed to
have my welfare at heart is hob-nobbing with my traducers. Miriam Nesbit
used to be a fairly good protector, but she hasn't done much along that
line lately."

"Come on, Hippy. I'll take care of you. I'm sorry I've neglected you."
Miriam held out her hand. Hippy hung his head and simpered. Then with
his Cheshire cat grin he seized Miriam's hand and toddled beside her
into the library. The others followed, laughing at the ridiculous
spectacle he presented.

"Both our fairy godmother and I are disgusted with you," taunted Nora as
she directed a glance of withering scorn at Hippy, now calmly seated
beside Miriam on the big leather davenport, the picture of triumph. "You
asked her to protect you; then you deserted her and deliberately went
over to Miriam for help."

"Wasn't that awful?" deplored Hippy. "Such inconstancy makes me blush."

"You couldn't blush if your life depended upon it," was David Nesbit's
scathing comment.

"There are others," retorted Hippy.

David glared ferociously at the grinning Hippy.

"There are others," went on Hippy blandly, "who, I might venture to say,
have even greater trouble in producing that much lauded rarity, a blush.
But what does blushing mean? It means turning very red. It isn't always
confined to one's face, either. I once knew a man, a rare creature,
whose very