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FLAMING

YOUTH

her eyes softly heavy. There was a stain across the bodice of her evening dress. As the door opened she was releasing her lips from the man’s kiss. “Take care of her, Dee,” said Browning, and was gone. “And what do you think of that?” challenged Constance as she paused by the threshold. Dee’s answer might have seemed inconsecutive. “You —

are a beautiful thing, Con.”

4

“Am I? Perhaps it’s just as well that Iam.” There Was a grimness in the sweet voice. “Why that?” “Td be out of luck if I weren’t.” “The Grants’ party must have been a hurrah.” “Not so much. It got too slow for me before two o’clock.” ‘Did it? Where have you been all night?” “Motoring.” “You don’t look very dusty,” observed the shrewd Dee. “Perhaps you think I’m not telling you the truth.” “It’s no affair of mine,” returned Dee easily. “Well, Pm not,” continued the elder sister.

“Come into

the conservatory.” She led the way across the living room, dragging her feet a little as she walked. “Now,

if you want to know,” she continued defiantly, “I'll tell you. I've been in Fred Browning’s rooms.” “That’s nice!” observed Dee. “What’s the idea?” “T had to go somewhere. I couldn*t come home.” “Drunk?” Dee shot out the monosyllable with a sharp-

ness which made the other

wince.

But

she

answered

promptly:

“Iwas that.

And I wasn’t the only one.

rum is hell.” “Who was with you?” “Nobody.”

That Bacardi