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FLAMING

“Why shouldn’t you?

YOUTH

139

But I thought you were crazy

over Con. She thinks so.” Scott hummed one of the passages from the final number of the concert. “Oh, very well. I’m only making conversation. I

don’t really want to talk at all.

Id rather think.

Al)

the rest of the way home.”

Arrived at Holiday Knoll, he stepped from the car and held out a hand to her. “Good-night, Pat.” “Aren’t you coming in?”

  • T think not.”

“Ah, do,” she wheeedled. “Just for a minute.” He turned to look at the broad, rambling house. A dim light burned in the library; a brighter one in Dee’s room overhead. Constance’s room was dark. He was vaguely glad of that. “J haven’t even thanked you yet,” she observed. “You needn’t.” “Then you ought to thank me,” she asserted daringly, “for taking Connie’s place. Do come in. Perhaps I can find you a drink.” “T don’t want

a drink, thank you,” he returned; but

he followed her through the door. “Tt’s us, Dee,” called the girl, projecting her voice up the stairway as she led the way to the library. “Mr. Scot and me.” “All right,” Dee responded. “I’m in my nightie or Vd come down. Have a good time?” &Gee-lorious!” said Pat. She took off her hat, flaffed up her short, heavy hair with a double-handed scuffle characteristic of her, and moved forward to the tuble, In the diffused soft radiance of the one light, Scott stared at her. Her pose was languid, her eyes sombre

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