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was so absorbed that he did not hear the motor car come up the drive and stop at the side of the house. Philip Rowe was just leaving, light coat over his arm, when the headlights swung in from the street and blinded him. He stood on the step until the car stopped.

"Hello, Phil." It was a girl's voice, crisp and clear.

"Marcia?" He stepped forward and put out his hand.

"Is John here?" she asked, and added, "I have an engagement with him."

The interval before Rowe replied was long enough to imply disappointment.

"He's in the house now—unfortunately!"

"Flatterer! Tonight I—"

"You what?"

"Came for John—"

"And what else? What were you going to say?"

He moved nearer so he could see her face, dimly revealed by the dash light. She drew back, showing her very white teeth.

"Nothing at all," she laughed lowly, and when he gave a breath of only half-pretended dejection, she whispered: "I came for John—tonight!"

Rowe looked quickly into the house, then made as if to open the car door, but the girl's hand flew out to hold the latch fast.

"Please, Phil!"