and marry
me?"

Harry was holding Pauline by the hand as she drew her dainty way out of
the library. In laughing rebellion she looked over her shoulder and
jeered at him.

"Oh, I thought it was I who was going to be afraid," she said.

"Well, if you aren't, who is going to be?"

"You," she tittered.

He drew her back with a gentle but firm grasp.

"Honestly, Polly, aren't you satisfied yet? Adventure is all right for
breakfast or for luncheon once a month, but as a regular unremitting
diet it gets on my nerves."

"Still thinking of your own perils?" she volleyed.

Harry's fine keen face took on a look of earnest appeal. He let go her
hand, but as she started to run up the stairs he held her with his
eyes.

"You dear, silly boy," she cried, returning a step and clasping him in
an impetuous embrace. "You are the nicest brother in all the world--
sometimes--but just now I think that adventure is nicer than brothers
--or husbands. I'm having the time of my life, Harry boy, and I'm
going on and on, and on with it until I've seen all the wild and wicked
people and places in the world."

Harry caught her hand and smiled down at her in surrender.

A ring at the door bell and the entrance of the maid caused Pauline to
flutter up the stairs. They were preparing to attend the Courtelyou's
reception that evening to the great Baskinelli, whose musical
achievements had been equaled only by his social successes during this,
his first New York season.

"Anyway," she twinkled from the top of the stairs, "you needn't be
frightened for tonight. Nothing so meek and mild as a pianist can hurt
you."

Harry tossed up his hands in mimic despair and started back to the
library.

"Yes, I know she is always at home to you, Miss Hamlin," the maid was
saying at the door.

"What a privileged person I am," laughed Lucille Hamlin.

She was Pauline's chum-in-chief, a dark, still tempered girl, in
perfect contrast to the adventurous Polly. She greeted Harry with the
easy grace of old acquaintanceship.

"Still nursing the precious broken heart?" she queried.

"For the love of Michael, me and humanity," he pleaded, "can't you do
something? She won't listen to me. I'm honestly, deucedly worried,
Lucille."

"You know very well that nobody could ever do anything with Polly. She
always had to have her own way--and that's why you love her, though
you don't know it, Harry. Shall I run upstairs, Margaret?" she added,
turni