ther girls had flitted; but always
there would be for him--Leila.

"If you were a woman," she said, "you'd know by her clothes, and the pink
of her cheeks, and by the way she does her hair--she's just a little too
much of--everything--Barry."

"There's just enough of Delilah Jeliffe," said Barry, "to keep a man
guessing."

"Guessing what?" Mary demanded with a spark in her eyes.

"Oh, just guessing," easily.

"Whether she likes you?"

Barry nodded.

"But why should you want to know, Barry? You're not in love with her."

His blue eyes danced. "Love hasn't anything to do with it, little solemn
sister; it's just in the--game."

Later they had a tilt over inviting Mary's lodger.

"It seems so inhospitable to let him spend the day up there alone."

"I don't see how he could possibly expect to dine with us," Barry said,
hotly. "You don't know anything about him, Mary. And I agree with
Porter--a man's bank reference isn't sufficient for social recognition.
And anyhow he may not have the right kind of clothes."

"We are to have dinner at three o'clock," she said, "just as mother
always had it on Thanksgiving Day. If you don't want me to ask Roger
Poole, I won't. But I think you are an awful snob, Barry."

Her eyes were blazing.

"Now what have I done to deserve that?" her brother demanded.

"You haven't treated him civilly," Mary said. "In a sense he's a guest
in our house, and you haven't been up to his rooms since he came--and
he's a gentleman."

"How do you know?"

"Because I do."

"Yet the other day you hinted that Delilah Jeliffe wasn't a lady, not in
your sense of the word--and that I couldn't see the difference because
was a man. I'll let you have your opinion of Delilah Jeliffe if you'll
let me have mine of Roger Poole."

So Mary compromised by having Roger down for the evening. "We shall be
just a family party for dinner," she said. "But later, we are asking
some others for candle-lighting time. We want everybody to come prepared
to tell a story or recite, or to sing, or play--in the dark at first, and
then with the candles."

His pride urged him to refuse--to spurn this offer of hospitality from
the girl who had once forgotten that he was in the house!

But as he stood there on the threshold of the Tower Rooms, her smile
seemed to draw him, her voice called him, and he was young--and
desperately lonely.

So as he dressed carefully on Thanksgiving afternoon, he had a sense of
ex