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FLAMING

YOUTH

“Nothing, dearest.” “Yet to-morrow we'll have just as much to talk about as if we’d never spoken a word to each other. It’s rather wonderful, isn’t it? What makes us that way?” “Companionship. The rarest thing in life or love.” She swung herself in by the window. “Come on, companion,” she invited. As he followed, she detached a few sprays from the huge cluster of wild purple violets at her belt, and set them in his coat. “Decoration of companionship,” she said. ‘And’—she stretched up and kissed his lips—“reward for a happy morning.” There was a stifled exclamation. Constance rose from the depths of the big arm chair facing away from them and confronted the pair. Pat burst into harsh laughter. “Trapped !” she exclaimed. Constance’s face with its strained, expectant, apprehensive expression of imminent motherhood, was white.

“Pat, I think you’d better leave me with Mr. Scott,” she said. “T don’t,” snapped Pat. “If you’ve got anything to say, say it.” Her eyes burned sombrely, angrily. She was furious with her sister for having surprised her. A puzzled, helpless look came over Constance’s face. “I wouldn’t have believed ” she began lamentably. “How long has this been going on?” “None of your business,” returned Pat coolly. “It will be father’s business. I shall phone him now.” “Wait, Connie,” put in Scott with quiet authoritative-

ness. “Wouldn’t it be as well to consider consequences before making more trouble than can perhaps be undone?” “T shall stay here, if you phone, until Mr. Fentriss
 * You’re afraid, are you? Well, you can run.”

comes.”