He left her at the door of the apartment, and she flew in, eager to talk the evening over with Jerry. But they also had evidently motored afar for their party, and had not come in yet. She went to the cellarette and poured herself out a small “prescription,” making a wry face as she did so. Not long ago she would have recoiled at the idea of taking liquor. Now, ever since Sarah had first shown her how some drinks would brace her if she felt dead, and others would send her off to sleep if she had time to sleep some unexpected hour and couldn’t, she had come to look upon alcohol as a friend in need. Her father would think this horrible. And what would the family portraits think?—The thought trickled away as the liquor went down her throat, and she reviewed the events of the evening. Packy had been a great disappointment, adding to her growing cynicism about men. But were all men so—materialistic? She poured herself another glass, reaching for a more suitable phrase. Not materialistic, necessarily; rather, “of the earth, earthy.” Were they—all? She thought of Grant Grey, seeing again the clear eyes that seemed a reflection of his young boy’s soul. No, not all men were like Packy. A wave of feeling swept over her, so strong that she was left trembling. She must see Grant again—soon! The wave passed, leaving her limp, a questioning almost of terror knocking at her pulse. _How could she feel so, about a man she had just met?_ III ” Look at that sailboat,” said Grant Grey. “Yes,” said Joy contentedly. The two were sitting on the piazza of the Grey’s summer home, which fronted the beach. It had not been Grant who had finally called Joy up, but Betty, all thrills and eagerness. She asked Joy to come down for the week-end—“and Grant wants you to come, too!” she added, as if that settled it. It had. Sarah was frankly envious, Jerry rejoiced, at her invitation. “You’ll get some rest,” said Jerry; “you never do here.” “I wish _we_ could get away,” Sarah grumbled; “I get so sick of summer in the city.” “Why don’t you go somewhere for a few weeks?” Jerry shrugged her shoulders, and knocked the ashes off her cigarette. “No funds, as the banks tell me constantly. I have to stick around town and do a little work once in awhile.” “Work!” Jerry laughed. “It’s time I took in washing on the side again. I am not a young lady of independent means.” Sarah gave forth a groan. “Oh, dear, Jerry, are you going to start again?” “Must, my lady, the situation spells must, if I am to continue to buy our delicatessen breakfasts. At times, food seems scarcely worth while to me.” “It seems to me,” said Joy, “that we are pretty extravagant for people having no visible income.” “How?” demanded Sarah. “We hardly ever buy any meals except breakfasts——” “But look at the stuff we drink and pass around—so far as I can see, keeping the cellarette filled is as expensive as running a free bar——”