She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. He insisted once again on opening the car door for her. Directly in range stood the strange young man, although he was at the far side of the loft. The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey. ’ Then she came closer and put her hand on his chest so that it rested on the braid that decorated his scarlet coat. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts. But, perhaps Mr.
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