moment, through the glass-sheeted grill Scott discovered
two small figures dashing up the drive to the porte-cochere. And he
turned on Lang like a wild cat.

Lang, the man at the door, was disposed to defend his post; Scott
prepared to fly at him, but his sister intervened:

"Oh, Lang," she pleaded, jumping up and down in an agony of
apprehension, "please, _please_, let them in! We've never had any
friends." She caught his arm piteously; he looked fearfully embarrassed,
for the Seagrave livery was still new to him; nor, during his brief
service, had he fully digested the significance of the policy which so
rigidly guarded these little children lest rumour from without apprise
them of their financial future and the contaminating realisation
undermine their simplicity.

As he stood, undecided, Geraldine suddenly jerked his hand from the
bronze knob and Scott flung open the door.

"Come on! Quick!" he cried; and the next moment four small pairs of feet
were flying through the hall, echoing lightly across the terrace, then
skimming the lawn to the sheltering shrubbery beyond.

"The thing to do," panted Scott, "is to keep out of sight." He seized
his guests by the arms and drew them behind the rhododendrons. "Now," he
said, "what's your name? You, I mean!"

"Duane Mallett," replied the boy, breathless. "That's my sister, Naida.
Let's wait a moment before we begin to fight; Naida and I had to run
like fury to get away from our nurse."

Naida was examining Geraldine with an interest almost respectful.

"I wish they'd let _me_ dress like a boy," she said. "It's fun, isn't
it?"

"Yes. They don't _let_ me do it; I just did it," replied Geraldine.
"I'll get you a suit of Scott's clothes, if you like. I can get the
boxing-gloves at the same time. Shall I, Scott?"

"Go ahead," said Scott; "we can pretend there are four boys here." And,
to Duane, as Geraldine sped cautiously away on her errand: "That's a
thing I never did before."

"What thing?"

"Play with three boys all by myself. Kathleen--who is Mrs. Severn, our
guardian--is always with us when we are permitted to speak to other boys
and girls."

"That's babyish," remarked Duane in frank disgust. "You are a
mollycoddle."

The deep red of mortification spread over Scott's face; he looked shyly
at Naida, doubly distressed that a girl should hear the degrading term
applied to him. The small girl returned his gaze without a particle of
expression in her face.

"M