Investigation proved that it was Cass and Quin in hot dispute, as usual. On seeing her descend the stair the latter promptly stepped forward. "Cass is going to let me take you home, Miss Bartlett." "I never said I would," Cass contradicted him. "I'm not going to get her into trouble the night before she goes away." "That's for her to decide," said Quin. "If she says I can go I'm going." The very novelty of being called upon to decide anything for herself, augmented perhaps by the ardent desire in his eyes, caused Eleanor to tip the scales in his favor. "I don't mind his taking me home," she said somewhat condescendingly. "They'll think it's Cass." "All buck privates look alike to them," added Rose, laughing. "My private days are over," said Quin grandly. "This time next week I'll be out of my uniform." "You won't be half so good-looking," said Eleanor, surveying him with such evident approval that he had a wild idea of reenlisting at once. "Tell Papa Claude I couldn't wait for him any longer," Eleanor then said. "Kiss him good-by for me, Rose, and tell him I'll write the minute I get to Baltimore." Then Cass kissed her, and Rose and the baby kissed her, and Myrna came downstairs to kiss her, and Edwin was called up from the basement to kiss her. It seemed the easiest and most natural thing in the world for everybody to kiss her but Quin, who would have given all he had for the privilege. At last he found himself alone with her in the street, trying to catch step and wondering whether or not it was proper to take hold of a young lady's elbow. With commendable self-restraint he compromised on street crossings and muddy places. It was not quite dark yet, but it was going to be very soon, and a big pale moon was hiding behind a tall chimney, waiting for a chance to pounce out on unwary young couples who might be venturing abroad. As they started across Central Park, an open square in the heart of the city, Eleanor stopped short, and with eyes fixed on the sky began incanting: "Star light, star bright Very first star I see to-night Wish I may, wish I might-- May these three wishes come true before to-morrow night." "I haven't got three wishes," said Quin solemnly; "I've only got one." "Mercy, I have dozens! Shall I lend you some?" "No! mine's bigger than all yours put together." She flashed a look at him from under her tilted hat-brim: "What on earth's the matter with you? You look so solemn. I don't believe you wanted to bring me home, after all." Quin didn't know what was the matter with him. Heretofore he had fallen in love as a pebble falls into a pond. There had been a delicious splash, and subsequent encircling ripples, each one further away than the last. But this time the pebble had fallen into a whirlpool, and was being turned and tossed and played with in a manner wholly bewildering. "Oh, I wanted to come, all right," he said slowly. "I _had_ to come. Say, I wish you weren't going away to-morrow."