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FLAMING

YOUTH

to her plainty. I feel rather alarmed at the the modern flapper knows so formidably much! = Opening thesafe toaddthis letter tothe accumulating — pile in the centre compartment, Osterhout was conscious — of a subtle and troubling impression. He felt that some —

alien hand had intruded there, some alien eye had seem _

those words, so sacredly confidential, sealed in the invie~ _ lable silences of death, Yet that, he kmew, was impossible,— No one in the world except himself had the combination— of the safe. Could Mona herself, Mona's spirit, returning— te the reom she had so loved and so permeated with her —

personality, have entered there to absorb the essence of the confidences which she had demanded of him? But if — that were so, why should he feel that sense of invasion,

since the letters belonged more to Mona than te him? Nevertheless, the thought was a blessed appeasement to the thirst of his heart. He clasped it to him. But presently his underlying materialistic hard sense reasserted its ascendancy. He set it all down to imagination; | smiled tolerantly at himself for a sentimental self-deluder. For a long time Pat did not come to pay him the” expected visit. But the day before her return te schoat she appeared in his laboratory. “Bobs,” she announced pathetically, “ve got a sare throat.” “Let's have a Jock at it,” he directed, leading her to the

window. She tilted back her face, while he explored the recesses of the aceused organ.

“Sore throat, ch?" he remarked.

“At least your mouth >

is clean, which is more than could have been said of it a

year ago. You've got a breath ike a cow.” “*Snice.” purred Pat. “I'm a good hitle dieter.

But”

what about my throat?”

bag ie be ae Li+