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 FLAMING

YOUTH

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She laughed and the tension was temporarily relieved. “Anyway,” she declared resolutely, “here and now is where I quit. There’s nothing in it. Unless,” she added with an astounding naiveté, “it’s somebody that I’m

quite crazy about.” Anger and pain had left a faint fire still in the eyes which she turned to his. “I’m glad it was you that were with me when it happened, Mr. Scott.” “TI was afraid that it only made it the harder for you.” “No. Because you understand.” He was by no means sure that he understood at all, but he made no denial. “Have you got any daughters?” “No.”

“T wish I’d had someone like you that I could talk to,” she said wistfully. ‘Dad’s all right. Iadore Dad. But I couldn’t talk to him like this. I can to you. Isn’t it funny! Do you like me a little, Mr. Scott?” Her face, upturned to his, was one anxious, honest, hopeful plea. “Yes. I like you very much,” he returned soberly. “You might adopt me,” she pursued. ‘On account of mother. You were fond of her, weren’t you?” He re garded her with a slight frown which vanished as he realised that this was no adventurous impertinence such as her references to Constance. “I don’t see how you could help but be; she was so beautiful. . . . But no; I couldn’t be anyone’s daughter but Dad’s, even adopted.” “Granddaughter,” suggested Scott mockingly. “I take it all back!” she cried, her spirits quite re stored. “You aren’t nearly as old as I thought you were; and twice as nice. We'll just be friends, won’t we? And T’ll be awfully good and never say anything catty about Con again. Come on; there’s the music. Let’s dance, This is somebody else’s but I don’t care.” At the door she stretched her arms above her head in a long sweep, a hovering, expectant gesture as if she were