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 The corners of Miss Boland's mouth twitched, but she made them behave. It seemed to be a case wherein she was expected to assist. "It may be only infatuation," she speculated demurely.

"I—I can't believe it," said Henry, so desperate that he had quite lost his sense of humor.

"Or it might be that blow on the head."

"No!" he insisted. "When I look at you, Miss Boland, I know that if I have been able to fall in love with you my mind must be at its sanest."

"Your tongue is certainly at its glibbest," she rallied him; but all at once he was struck with a new compunction.

"But could love be worth anything," he demurred, ridiculously grave, "love that broke out in, say, less than twenty-six hours?"

"I believe that even measles require a longer period of incubation," teased Miss Boland; "which reminds me that I am on the way to a hospital with a wounded man."

"No, no," protested Henry quickly. "Just drop me at the hotel, please. I'll have Doc Austin come there and replace this turban effect with a piece of court-plaster the size of a postage stamp."

"As you will," said Billie, and with a flashy turn, drew up at the curb in front of the Hotel Gregory. Henry had scarcely noticed where they were and had a dismayed feeling that the drive had ended too soon. There was something not—not yet settled.

"Thank you for bringing me in," his lips were saying.

"It was a perfectly exciting pleasure," she sparkled. "If your hurt proves as slight as you think, perhaps you can make good on that golf game tomorrow."