d to see me, Phil? I thought you might be lonesome by
this time in the deserted city."

"I was, horribly." He was still holding her hand. "Without a chance to
talk with you or Alice, I am quite an orphan."

"Ah! You or Alice!" A shade of disappointment came over her face as she
dropped his hand. But she rallied in a moment.

"Poor boy! You ought to have a guardian. What heroine of romance are
you running after now?"

"In my new story?"

"Of course."

"She isn't very well defined in my mind yet. But a lovely girl, without
anything peculiar, no education to speak of, or career, fascinating in
her womanhood, such as might walk out of the Bible. Don't you think that
would be a novelty? But it is the most difficult to do."

"Negative. That sort has gone out. Philip, why don't you take the
heroine of the Mavick ball? There is a theme." She was watching him
shrewdly, and saw the flush in his face as he hurriedly asked,

"Did you ever see her?"

"Only at a distance. But you must know her well enough for a literary
purpose. The reports of the ball give you the setting of the drama."

"Did you read them?"

"I should say I did. Most amusing."

"Celia, don't you think it would be an ungentlemanly thing to take a
social event like that?"

"Why, you must take life as it is. Of course you would change the
details. You could lay the scene in Philadelphia. Nobody would suspect
you then."

Philip shook his head. The conversation was not taking the turn that was
congenial to him. The ball seemed to him a kind of maelstrom in which
all his hopes were likely to be wrecked. And here was his old friend,
the keenest-sighted woman he knew, looking upon it simply as literary
material--a ridiculous social event. He had better change the subject.

"So the college is not open yet?"

"No, I came back because I had a new idea, and wanted time to look
around. We haven't got quite the right idea in our city missions. They
have another side. We need country missions."

"Aren't they that now?"

"No, I mean for the country. I've been about a good deal all this
vacation, and my ideas are confirmed. The country towns and villages are
full of young hoodlums and toughs, and all sorts of wickedness. They
could be improved by sending city boys up there--yes, and girls of tender
age. I don't mean the worst ones, not altogether. The young of a
certain low class growing up in the country are even worse than the same
class in the city, and t