"Madeline," said the young man, "does this getting through college make you feel as though you had suddenly had your cellars taken away and your attics left foundationless in space? The question is 'what next?' That's what I used to ask you in the good old days when we played mumbly-peg together. What shall we play now?" "I know what I shall play. There is home, with mother enraptured to have me at her beck and call again; and, of course, there are musical and social 'does'. They are going to be such fun that I do not know if I shall have room to tuck in a little study. But I suppose you must have a harder game. Yes, you must." "And are you so contented with the dead level? I fancied you were going to be ambitious." She turned her head and looked out through the narrow mullioned window beside her as though to avoid his eyes, but she answered quietly: "If I have any ambitions, they are not very imposing. Let's talk about yours; or rather let's not talk about yours here. There are too many people and too much Swami. We are out at the lake, at the old summer home. Run out and dine with us to-morrow. Father is almost as anxious to see you as I am. You know you are his chief consolation for the fact that I am not a boy." "Thanks. May I bring Norris? Not that I'm afraid of the dark by myself, but that I really want you to know him." "Bring him of course, Dick," she said without enthusiasm. "And now do you suppose I can get you a cup of coffee or a sherbet?" "Hush, I don't know whether anything so vivid is possible. I believe, out of deference to Ram Juna, the refreshments are light almost to Nirvana. You can't insult a man who lives on a few grains of rice by making him watch the herd gorge on salads and ices, can you?" "And do you really believe that great mountain of flesh was built out of little grains of rice?" "Mrs. Appleton--you remember her?" "She has pounced on me already. She remembers that I waltz like a dream." "Dick," said Miss Elton scornfully, "don't make the mistake of considering yourself a plum. Mrs. Appleton told me that the Swami feeds on dew and flaming nebulae." "Humph!" said Dick, "I think he's a big bronze fraud." "Oh, come, men may be great without playing foot-ball," she laughed. "Well, he's not for me. I can believe in almost any kind of a prophet except one that works miracles." "Who knows? The Swami may be the molder of your destiny," said Madeline gaily, with youth's lightness in referring to the vague future. "He may; but I'd lay long odds against it." "I must be going." Miss Elton rose. "The crowd is thinning, and Mrs. Lenox looks impressively in my direction. We are going out together on the train. Their new country place is near us, you know. And you, ungrateful one, I suspect, have not even spoken to Mr. Early yet. Go and 'make your manners,' like a good boy. I'll expect you to-morrow afternoon. Mr. Norris, Dick has promised to bring you with him to dinner to-morrow. Till then, good-by."