barrassing
question. But I do think it."

"At least, I'm not such a grouch as I sound. And I know how to be
thankful when I find good--friends?"

She nodded emphatically, and indicated their host. "Two of us."

"I'll hold you to that. And," he continued, "you make me a little
ashamed. I should like to say that you, being with you, is very good
medicine for lame ducks."

Another flush--not of contrition this time nor yet of
displeasure--deepened the pretty color. He pursed his lips and whistled,
as well as he could against the rushing wind, a bar or two of the latest
popular melody. They found humor in this and laughed, so merrily that
their host turned and beamed approvingly upon them.

It was a good car and the chauffeur was as good as his word. The miles
stretched out behind them, at a pace that forbade conversation. The
exhilaration of speed was upon David; and a deeper joy, born of a
friendship found in a waste of loneliness.

The late June sun was just sinking to rest when they entered the
outskirts of the city and drew up before a rambling white house set well
back on a velvety lawn. Two great elms stood in the front of the yard
and rhododendrons bloomed against the wide porch, their fragrance
lingering on the evening air.

"That," said Jonathan, "was a very spirited ride. But I hope," this to
David, "you aren't sorry it's ended, because this is my home, where we
want you to come very often. Miss Summers," he added, "already knows her
welcome is sure."

He got to the pavement and helped Miss Summers to alight, as
deferentially as if she had been the finest lady in the land. And,
despite red whiskers and cap and goggles, to David the manner did not
seem absurd. . . .

A little later David descended from the room where he had removed the
traces of their ride. At the parlor door he stopped, looking uncertainly
at the sole occupant of that cozy room. She was reclining, eyes closed
and hands folded, on a pillowed settee, where the glow of a shaded lamp
fell softly upon her, and David thought her the most beautiful thing he
had ever seen. A very wisp of a woman she was; he could have held her in
his arms and scarcely felt the weight. But he would have taken her very
tenderly, so fragile she seemed. Under a filmy lace cap her hair, still
fine and plentiful, shone silvery. The face, though the face of age and
white and thin almost to transparency, was strangely unlined. She wore a
black sil