"It isn't a flirtation," said Wilbur Bayne. "I've seen Clara flirting many a time. But this is different. They're reckless, positively reckless. When a man as fond of his stomach as Roger lets a whole meal go by, he's pretty far gone." Roger bent over, with a part of a squab in his hand. "Have they bitten!" he said. "They've not only swallowed hook, line and sinker but they're walking up the bank to put themselves in the basket!" Well, the next morning it was clear that the girls had decided on a course and were following it. Although it had been arranged that everyone was to sleep late, breakfast trays appeared in the rooms at nine-thirty, with notes asking us to go to church. When I said I had not slept, and did not care to go, no one went, and when Roger appeared at eleven the girls surrounded me like a cordon of police. Roger was doing splendidly. He came up across the tennis court, covered with dust, and said he had not slept and had been walking since six o'clock. The men eyed him with positive ferocity. I'll not go into the details of that day, except to relate a conversation Ida Elliott and I had after luncheon. She came into my room and closed the door behind her softly, as if I were ill. "Well," she said, "I did think, Clara, that if you didn't have any sense, you would have some consideration for Carrie." I had been addressing the envelope to Bill, and so I shoved a sheet of paper over it. "I'm not going to try to read what you are writing," she said rudely. "What do you mean about Carrie?" "She's almost ill, that's all. How could anyone have had any idea that Roger and you----" She fairly choked. "Roger and I are only glad to be together again," I said defiantly. Then I changed to a wistful tone. Just hearing it made me sorry for myself. "We are old friends; Carrie knew that. It is cruel of you all to--to spoil the little bit of happiness I can get out of life." "What about Bill?" "Bill?" I said vaguely. "Oh--Bill! Well, Bill would never stand in the way of my being true to myself. He would want me to be happy." I put my handkerchief suddenly to my eyes, and she gave me a scathing glance. "I'm going to telephone Bill," she said. "You're not sane, Clara. And when you come back to your senses it may be too late." She flounced out, and I knew she would call Bill if she could. From the window I could see that Harry Delaney had Roger by the arm and was walking him up and down. It was necessary, if the fun was to go on, to disconnect the telephone. I ran down to the library and dropped the instrument on the floor twice, but when I put it to my ear to see if it was still working I found it was, for Central was saying: "For the love of heaven, something nearly busted my eardrum!"