They crept up, one by one, each to his or her old room. There needed to be no "doubling up," for the house was large, and each room had been left precisely as its owner had left it. It was rather ghostly, this stealing silently about with candles, and in the necessity for the suppression of speech the animation of the party rather suffered eclipse. It was late, and they were beginning to be sleepy, so they were soon in bed. But, somehow, once composed for slumber, more than one grew wakeful again. Guy, lying staring at a patch of wintry moonlight on the odd striped paper of his wall--it had stopped snowing since they had come into the house, and the clouds had broken away, leaving a brilliant sky--discovered his door to be softly opening. The glimmer of a candle filtered through the crack, a voice whispered his name. "Who is it?" he answered under his breath. "It's Nan. May I come in?" "Of course. What's up?" "Nothing. I wanted to talk a minute." She came noiselessly in, wrapped in a woolly scarlet kimono, scarlet slippers on her feet, her brown braids hanging down her back. The frost-bloom lately on her cheeks had melted into a ruddy glow, her eyes were stars. She set her candle on the little stand, and sat down on the edge of Guy's bed. He raised himself on his elbow and lay looking appreciatively at her. "This is like old times," he said. "But won't you be cold?" "Not a bit. I'm only going to stay a minute. Anyhow, this thing is warm as toast.... Yes, isn't it like old times?" "Got your lessons for to-morrow?" She laughed. "All but my Caesar. You'll help me with that, in the morning, won't you?" "Sure--if you'll make some cushions for my bobs." "I will. Guy--how's Lucy Harper?" "She's all right. How's Bob Fields?" "Oh, I don't care for him, now!" She tossed her head. He kept up the play. "Like Dave Strong better, huh? He's a softy." "He isn't. Oh, Guy--I heard you had a new girl." "New girl nothing. Don't care for girls." "Yes, you do. At least I think you do. Her name's--Margaret." The play ceased abruptly. Guy's face changed. "Perhaps I do," he murmured, while his sister watched him in the candle-light. "She won't answer yet?" she asked very gently. "Not a word." "You've cared a good while, haven't you, dear?" "Seems like ages. Suppose it isn't." "No--only two years, really caring hard. Plenty of time left." He moved his head impatiently. "Yes, if I didn't mind seeing her smile on Tommy Gower--de'il take him--just as sweetly as she smiles on me. If she ever held out the tip of her finger to me, I'd seize it and hold on to it for fair. But she doesn't. She won't. And she's going South next week for the rest of the winter, and there's a fellow down there in South Carolina where she goes--oh, he--he's red-headed after her, like the rest of us. And, well--I'm up against it good and hard, Nan, and that's the truth."