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 dering pile. In so doing he for a while deceived even himself.

It was impossible to say exactly when the image of Phœbe Meddar began to be a permanent tenant of Paul's mind. In the far-off days when he and Leila were monitors together, he had, in the thoroughness of his imaginative arrangements, thought of Phœbe as a sort of sister-in-law elect. And since the day of the funeral he had always been a little more sharply conscious of Phœbe's presence in the universe than that of other girls—with the exception of Gritty, the tomboy, who of course never counted. Gritty was a fixture in the universe like himself.

It was not until five years after the funeral, when Leila's memory had faded into the substance of a dream, that Phœbe's image became insistent. And not until a certain summer day when her name was mentioned by Walter Dreer did she leap into his heart with full significance. From that day, however, her personality revealed itself to him as something wondrously sweet, something that partook of the nature of violets and pansies and roses, as fragrant and as delicate.

He had never been close enough to Phœbe to ascertain whether she smelt of coco-nut cookies. Something in his regard for her made him refrain from approaching. For one thing, she had a sister who was an angel. It was as though Phœbe were a goddess who moved in a faery haze which he must not attempt to penetrate. Her brother might pull her golden pigtails and elicit musical squeals of pain and remonstrance, and Walter Dreer might talk about her as though she were like any other pretty girl, might even crowd into her corner of the Sunday-school vestry and roll his eyes at her, but for Paul it was an awe-inspiring privilege to live in the same