ve promised to motor out to Anchordale with Aunt Flo and Uncle Ranny
to hunt for wild flowers. Think of it! When all this trouble's brewing."

"Anchordale," repeated Quin absently, holding her coat suspended by the
collar and one sleeve. "Anchordale! By golly! I've got an idea! Say, I'm
going along Sunday. You manage it somehow."

"But I can't manage it! You aren't invited; and, besides----"

"I can't help that--I'm going. What time do you start?"

"Three o'clock. But you can't go, I tell you! They won't understand."

"All ready, Nellie?" called a voice on the stairway; and Papa Claude,
with a smile of perfect serenity on his face, bore lightly and
consciously down upon them.

CHAPTER 16

During the rushing Easter vacation, Eleanor had seen less of Harold
Phipps than Quin had feared. Considering the subliminal state of
understanding at which they had arrived in their voluminous letters, it
was a little awkward to account for the fact that she had found so little
time to devote exclusively to him. They had met at dances and had had
interrupted tete-a-tetes in secluded corners, and several stolen
interviews in the park; but her duties as hostess to two lively guests
had left little time for the exacting demands of platonic friendship. Now
that the girls were gone, she had counted on this last Sunday at Uncle
Ranny's as a time when she could see Harold under proper conditions and
make amends for any seeming neglect.

But when Sunday came, and she found herself seated at Aunt Flo's small,
perfectly appointed dinner-table, she found it increasingly difficult to
keep her mind upon the brilliant and cynical conversation of her most
admired friend. To be sure, they exchanged glances freighted with
meaning, and as usual her vanity was touched by the subtle homage of one
who apparently regarded the rest of humanity with such cold indifference.
He was the first person, except Papa Claude, who had ever taken her and
her ambitions seriously, and she was profoundly grateful. But,
notwithstanding the fact that she felt honored and distinguished by his
friendship, she sometimes, as now, found it difficult to follow the trend
of his conversation.

An hour before she had received an agonized note from her grandfather
saying that nothing had been accomplished, and that, unless she could use
her influence "in a quarter that should be nameless, all, all would be
lost!"

Her dark, brooding eye