girl, with the shyly honest eyes of her brother and the rather
heavy but shapely body and limbs of an indolent Juno. A harsh voice
pronounced his name; old Mr. Tappan extended a dry hand and bored him
through with eyes like holes burnt in a blanket.

"And do you still cultiwate the fine arts, young man?" he inquired, as
sternly as though he privately suspected Duane of maltreating them.

Duane shook hands with him.

"The school of the indiwidool," continued Mr. Tappan, "is what artists
need. Woo the muses in solitude; cultiwate 'em in isolation. Didn't
Benjamin West live out in the backwoods? And I guess he managed to make
good without raising hell in the Eekole di Boze Arts with a lot of
dissipated wagabonds at his elbow, inculcating immoral precepts and
wasting his time and his father's money."

And he looked very hard at Duane, who winced, but agreed with him
solemnly.

Geraldine, on the edge of a circle of newly arrived guests, leaned over
and whispered mischievously:

"Is that what _you_ did at the Ecole des Beaux Arts? Did you behave like
all that or did you cultivate the indiwidool?"

He shook hands again, solemnly, with Mr. Tappan, stepped back, and
joined her.

"Where on earth have you been hiding?" she inquired.

"You said that if I carved certain cabalistic signs on the big
beech-tree you would presently appear to me in a pink cloud--you
faithless little wretch!"

"How could I? Three motor-loads arrived from Iron Hill before I was half
dressed, and ever since I've been doing my traditional duty; and," in a
lower voice, "I was perfectly crazy to go to the beech-tree all the
time. Did you wait long, you poor boy?"

"Man is born to wait. I came back just now to find you.... I told
Kathleen," he added, radiant.

"What?" she whispered, flushing deliciously. "Oh, pooh! I told her about
it this morning--the very first thing. We both snivelled. I didn't sleep
at all last night.... There's something I wish to tell you----"

The gay smile suddenly died out in her eyes; a strange, wistful
tenderness softened them, touching her lips, too, which always gave that
very young, almost childish pathos to her expression. She put out her
hand instinctively and touched him.

"I want to be alone with you, Duane--for a little while."

"Shall I go to the beech-tree and wait?"

She glanced around with a hopeless gesture:

"You see? Other people are arriving and I've simply got to be here. I
don't see how I can