Young Mr. Daunt was near the door. He opened it for her. When Stewart passed, following the girl closely, the volunteer door-tender qualified as a good sport. He whispered, "Good luck, old man!" When Coventry closed the door he gave his sister a prolonged and pregnant stare of actual triumph. It was only a look, but he put into it more significance than sufficed for Doris's perspicacity. He had confided to his sister, the evening before, his hopeful reliance on a girl's heart. But the Lana Corson who came down the stairs, who confronted them, who had fearlessly chosen her mate before their hostile eyes, was a woman. And Coventry's gaze told his sister boastingly that he had made good in one respect--he had called the turn in his estimate of a woman. THE END