ct one to be a credit," she excused her lack
of appetite, nervously twitching the gilt cord about the package. "And
to be stupid and a disappointment! Yes, as long as I can remember, I
have been a disappointment. If only there had been another to divide all
those expectations. If only you had been my brother!"

"Heaven forbid!" I exclaimed hastily. "That is----"

"Don't bother about explaining," she smiled wanly, "I understand. But
you are distinguished, and you look it. I never will be, and I am ugly.
Mother expects me to be an astronomer like Father and work with him, or
to go in for club life and serious writing as she does. I never can do
either."

"Neither could I, Phil."

"You are clever, successful. Everybody knows your name. When we are out,
and people or an orchestra play your music, Mother always says: 'A
trifle of my nephew's, Roger Locke. Very original, is it not? Of course,
I do not understand music, but I hear that his last light opera----' And
then she leans back and just _eats up_ all the nice things said about
your work. She would never let you know it, but she does. And that is
the sort of thing she wants from me. I--I want to make cookies, and I
love fancywork."

The taxicab drew up with a jerk before the gaudy entrance to Silver
Aisles.

I imagine Phillida had the vaguest ideas of what such places were like.
When we were settled at a table in a general blaze of pink lights,
beside a fountain that ran colored water, I regarded her humorously. But
she seemed quite contented with her surroundings, looking about her with
an air I can best describe as grave excitement. At this hour, the room
was not half filled, and the jazz orchestra had withdrawn to prepare for
a hard night's work.

After I had ordered our dinner, I glanced up to see her fingers busied
loosening the severe lines of her brushed back hair.

"Everyone here looks so nice," she said wistfully. "I wish my hair did
shine and cuddle around my face like those women's does. Do--do I look
queer, Cousin? You are looking at me so----?"

"I was thinking what pretty eyes you have."

Her pale face flushed.

"Really?"

"Most truthfully. As for the hair, isn't that a matter of bottled polish
and hairdressers? But you remind me of a question for you. Isn't a braid
of hair this wide," I laid off the dimensions on the table, "this long,
and thick, a good deal for a woman to own?"

"Show me again."

I obeyed, while she leaned forward to ob