"Yes. It will be hard, but I will do it for him."

Boswell settled back in his seat.

"I thought he only meant her to know--when he could go himself," he said
quietly.

"He made me promise."

Boswell leaned forward and drew the cup from the table, and in one long
draught drank the cold, weak tea. When he spoke again the conversation
was set in a different channel.

"I hardly know what I expected to find you, Miss Glenn," he said with his
rare, sweet smile. "You evidently seemed more a child to Farwell than you
do to me. That was natural. Now that we have become acquainted I hope you
will accept my help and hospitality until your own plans are formed. I
can make you very comfortable in my town home. I am sure I can place you
in the best training school in the city; I have some influence there. But
before you settle to your hard work you will let me play host, as Farwell
would in my place? This would be a great pleasure to me."

What there was in the words and tone Priscilla could never tell, but
at once the future seemed secure, and the present placed on a sound
foundation. Every disturbing element was eliminated and the whole
situation put upon a perfectly commonplace basis. By a quick transition
the unreality was swept aside.

"Indeed, I will be glad to accept."

They smiled quite frankly and happily at each other.

"An odd story occurs to me." Boswell pressed back in his chair and his
face was in shadow. "You must get used to my stories and plays. The
Property Man must have his sport. There was once a garden, very
beautiful, very desirable, but full of traps to the unwary. Quite
unexpectedly, one day, a particularly fine butterfly found herself poised
on the branch of a tree with a soaring ambition in her heart, but a blind
sense of danger, also. It was a wise butterfly, by way of change. While
it hesitated, a beetle crawled along and offered its services as guide.
The pretty, bright thing was sane enough to accept. Do you follow?"

Priscilla started. She had been caught in the mesh of the story, and now
with a sudden realization of its underlying thought she flushed and
laughed.

"I still have my childish delight in stories, you see," she said. Then,
"I--I do see what you mean. Again I repeat, I am so glad to accept
your--your kindness."

"Middle life has its disadvantages." The voice from out the shadows
sounded weary. "It has none of the blindness of youth and none of the
assurance of old age. If