"Oh, that's better. I have a brother prepping at Laurenceville; he'll go to Sheff or Massachusetts Tech." "Better, you say? Just how?" "Yale at least talks about democracy." Her phrases were astonishingly direct, her intonations warm and enthusiastic. "Did you go to college?" Pelham wondered. She shrugged ever so slightly. "No; a finishing school--Ogontz. Don't mention it, please. Tell me something of your work." Her leading questions were beginning to reveal his blundering vacuity about labor conditions on the mountain, when Dorothy fluffed out. Her sharp eyes noticed at once his sheepish interest. "Jane's been boring you with a discussion of the labor question, foreign and domestic, I'm sure! I can't convert her. She'll worm everything you know out of you in half an hour, I warn you." Pelham agreed, a bit chagrined. "Yes.... She was just telling me what I didn't know about my men." Jane's lips curved open into a smile, friendly and somehow approving. "You'll learn, I think." Dorothy yawned in intimate boredom, "An apt pupil, no doubt.... I thought this was the day of the great fete, Pelham." "It is," he smiled. "They are at this moment enjoying lemonade and lettuce sandwiches." Dorothy looked puzzled; Jane's cheeks crinkled appreciatively. The older woman turned to the girl with ruffled rudeness. "Stay on for supper, Jeanne?" The other shook her head. "I must run along. Choir practice to-night," with a mischievous dimple. "Religious all of a sudden?" "The rector flourishes in my spiritual presence." "How is his new reverence?" Her mouth twisted piquantly. "Mushy.... Nice boy, though. Coming by to-morrow?" "Between three and four." "So long.... Good night, Mr. Mine Superintendent." Pelham convoyed her to the steps, doubly unwilling to let her go, as he reflected on her fresh charm, and the blind alley of the other woman's amorousness. "I enjoyed our talk, Miss Lauderdale. Could the course continue?" "I'm always glad to have a human being to talk to. I'm staying with the Andersons; the number's in the phone book." Thoughtfully he returned to the porch, and a cretonned wicker chair, ignoring the message of the partly-occupied couch. Inquisitive gray eyes watched him. "Do you like her?" "Oh, so-so. She seems intelligent." "Men never do like Jeanne," she assured him, with a complacent rippling gesture of her flounced body. "She's a dear, but too dreadfully serious. Doesn't like dancing, and all----" waving vaguely in the direction of the club. "Tell me something about her." "There isn't much. Jeanne--I love the French twist, don't you?--Jeanne's a queer, dear girl, Pelham; always busy with labor committees, or something as uplifting and tiresome." "I've never heard of her, except from you. Is she kin to the Andersons?"