dn't write,
did you?"

"No, I was not detained so long as I had anticipated, so I came right
on. But I'm afraid I'm inconveniencing you."

"Oh, not a bit, I'm quite comfortable," she assured him. "Auntie is gone
just now, and the twins are away, too, but they'll all be back
presently." She looked longingly at the house. "I'll have to come down,
I suppose."

"Let me help you," he offered eagerly. Connie in the incongruous
clothes, with the little curls straying beneath the ragged ribbon, and
with stains of cherry on her lips, looked more presentable than Connie
knew.

"Oh, I--" she hesitated, flushing. "Mr. Hedges," she cried imploringly,
"will you just go around the corner until I get down. I look fearful."

"Not a bit of it," he said. "Let me take the cherries."

Connie helplessly passed them down to him, and saw him carefully
depositing them on the ground. "Just give me your hand."

And what could Connie do? She couldn't sternly order a millionaire's son
to mosy around the house and mind his own business until she got some
decent clothes on, though that was what she yearned to do. Instead she
held out a slender hand, grimy and red, with a few ugly scratches here
and there, and allowed herself to be helped ignominiously out from the
sheltering branches into the garish light of day.

She looked at him reproachfully. He never so much as smiled.

"Laugh if you like," she said bitterly. "I looked in the mirror. I know
all about it."

"Run along," he said, "but don't be gone long, will you? Can you trust
me with the cherries?"

Connie walked into the house with great decorum, afraid the ragged
skirts might swing revealingly, but the young man bent over the cherries
while she made her escape.

It was another Connie who appeared a little later, a typical tennis
girl, all in white from the velvet band in her hair to the canvas shoes
on her dainty feet. She held out the slender hand, no longer grimy and
stained, but its whiteness still marred with sorry scratches.

"I am glad to see you," she said gracefully, "though I can only pray you
won't carry a mental picture of me very long."

"I'm afraid I will though," he said teasingly.

"Then please don't paint me verbally for my sisters' ears; they are
always so clever where I am concerned. It is too bad they are out.
You'll stay for luncheon with me, won't you? I'm all alone,--we'll have
it in the yard."

"It sounds very tempting, but--perhaps I had better come