But that minute I made up my mind not to tell him. He might think the
situation was too much for him and leave, or he might decide he ought to
tell Miss Summers where Dick was. There was no love lost between him and
Mr. Carter.

"To-night--I'm just tired and cranky," I said, "so--is Miss Summers
settled yet?"

He nodded, as if he wasn't thinking of Miss Summers.

"What did you tell her?"

"Haven't seen her," he said. "Sent her a note that I was understudying a
man named Carter and to mind to pick up her cues."

"It's a common enough name," I said, but he had lighted his pipe again
and had dropped forward, one elbow on his knee, his hand holding the
bowl of his pipe, and staring into the fire. He looked up when I closed
and locked the pantry door.

"I've just been thinking," he remarked, "here we are--a group of
people--all struggling like mad for one thing, but with different
motives. Mine are plain enough and mercenary enough, although a certain
red-haired girl with a fine loyalty to an old doctor and a sanatorium
is carrying me along with her enthusiasm. And Van Alstyne's motives
are clear enough--and selfish. Carter is merely trying to save his own
skin--but a girl like Miss Pat--Miss Jennings!"

"There's nothing uncertain about what she wants, or wrong either," I
retorted. "She's right enough. The family can't stand a scandal just now