e?"

"Great Scott! How should I know where she lives?"

"'Course not," said Edith.

But it was many days before Maurice's alarm quieted down sufficiently to
let him drift back into the furtive security of knowing that neither
Edith nor Eleanor could, by any possibility, get on Lily's track. "And,
besides, Lily's too good a sport to give anything away. Pretty neat in
her to 'forget' that coat! But she ought to be careful not to forget her
husband's name!--it seems to be Henry, now."

CHAPTER XV

A moody Maurice, who puzzled her, and a faultfinding Eleanor, whom she
was too generous to understand, drove the sixteen-year-old Edith into a
real appreciation of Johnny Bennett. With him, she was still in the
stage of unsentimental frankness that pierced ruthlessly to what she
conceived to be the realities; and because she was as unselfconscious as
a tree, she was entirely indifferent to the fact that Johnny was a boy
and she was a girl, Johnny, however, nearsighted and in enormous
shell-rimmed spectacles, and still inarticulate, was quite aware of it;
more definitely so every week,--for he saw her on Saturdays and Sundays.
"And it's the greatest possible relief to talk to you!" Edith told him.

Johnny accepted the tribute as his due. They had been coasting, and now,
on the hilltop, were sitting on their sleds, resting. "Gosh! it's hot!"
Johnny said: he had taken off his red sweater and tied its sleeves
around his neck; "zero? You try pulling both those sleds up here, and
you'll think it's the Fourth of July," Johnny said, adjusting his
spectacles with a mittened hand. He frequently reverted to the grumpy
stage--yet now, looking at Edith, grumpiness vanished. She was
breathless from the long climb, and her white teeth showed between her
parted, panting lips: her cheeks were burning with frosty pink. Johnny
looked, and looked away, and sighed.

"Johnny," Edith said, "why do you suppose Eleanor gives me so many
call-downs? 'Course I hate music; and once I said she was always
pounding on the piano--and she didn't seem to like it!" Edith was
genuinely puzzled. "I can't understand Eleanor," she said; "she makes me
tired."

"I should think she'd make Maurice tired!" Johnny said, and added:
"That's the worst of getting married. I shall never marry."

"When I was a child," Edith said, "I always said that when I grew up I
was going to marry Maurice, because he was just like Sir Walter Raleigh.
Wasn't that a joke?"