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 will like. It’s Scott’s dinner to-night. Your tastes are so different, I can’t compromise. And this is his, from the cream soup to the frozen pudding.”

“But who said I didn’t like cream soup and frozen pudding?” Louie held out his hands to show their guiltlessness. “And are there haricots verts in cream sauce? I thought so! And I like those, too. The truth is, Dearest,” he stood before her and tapped her chin with his finger, “the truth is that I like all Scott’s dinners, it’s he who doesn’t like mine! He’s the intolerant one.”

“True for you, Louie,” laughed the Professor.

“And it’s that way about lots of things,” said Louie a little plaintively.

“Kitty,” said Scott as they were driving home that night, Kathleen in the driver’s seat beside him, “that silver bracelet Louie spoke of was one of Tom’s trinkets, wasn’t it? Do you suppose she has some feeling for him still, under all this pompuosity?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. But, oh, Scott, I do love you very much!” she cried vehemently.

He pinched off his driving-glove between his knees and snuggled his hand over hers, inside her muff. “Sure?” he muttered.

“Yes, I do!” she said fiercely, squeezing his knuckles together with all her might.

“Awful nice of you to have told me all about it at the start, Kitty. Most girls wouldn’t have