Landis?"

"I like her, of course," he replied pleasantly.

Grace Ferrall stood thinking a moment: "That sketch you made proved a
great success, didn't it?" And she laughed under her breath.

"Did it? I thought Mr. Quarrier seemed annoyed--"

"Really? What a muff that cousin of mine is. He's such a muff, you know,
that the very sight of his pointed beard and pompadour hair and his
complacency sets me in fidgets to stir him up."

"I don't think you'd best use me for the stick next time," said Siward.
"He's not my cousin you know."

Mrs. Ferrall shrugged her boyish shoulders: "By the way"--she said
curiously--"who was that girl?"

"What girl," he asked coolly, looking at his hostess, now the very
incarnation of delicate mockery with her pretty laughing mouth, her
boyish sunburn and freckles.

"You won't tell me I suppose?"

"I'm sorry--"

"Was she pretty, Stephen?"

"Yes," he said sulkily; "I wish you wouldn't--"