"Yes--very mad," said the May Girl. "Either he's mad because he finds you're not nearly as nice as you are conspicuous, or else, liking you most to death, he simply can't stand it that anyone as nice as he thinks you are is able to outplay him at tennis or--that's why I like animals best--and hurt things!" she interrupted herself with characteristic impetuosity. "Animals and hurt things don't care how rangy your arms are as long as they're loving! Why if you were as tall as a tree," she argued, "little deserted birds in nests would simply be glad that you could reach them that much sooner! But men? Why, even your nice Mr. Keets," she cried; "even your nice Mr. Keets, with his fussy old Archaeology, couldn't even play at being engaged without talking down--down--down at me! Tall as he is, too! And funny little old Mr. Rollins," she flushed. "Little--_little_--old Mr. Rollins--Mr. Rollins really liked me, I think, but he--he'd torture me if he thought it would make him feel any burlier! "And Claude Kennilworth," I questioned. The shiver across the May Girl's shoulders looked suddenly more like a thrill than a distaste. "Oh, Claude Kennilworth," she acknowledged quite ingenuously. "He's begun already to try to 'put me in my place'! Altogether too independent is what he thinks I am. But what he really means is 'altogether too tall'!" Once again the little shiver flashed across her shoulders. "He's so--so awfully temperamental!" she quickened. "Goodness knows what fireworks he'll introduce tomorrow! I can hardly wait!" "Is--is Dr. Brawne--tall?" I asked a bit abruptly. "N--o," admitted the May Girl. "He's quite short! But--his years are so tall!" she cried out triumphantly. "He's so tall in his attainments! I've thought it all out--oh very--very carefully," she attested. "And if I've got to be married in order to have someone to look out for me I'm almost perfectly positive that Dr. Brawne will be quite too amused at having so young a wife to bully me very much about anything that goes with the youngness!" "Oh--h," I said. "Yes,--exactly," mused the May Girl. With a heart and an apprehension just about as gray and as heavy as lead I rose and started for the door. "But, May Girl?" I besought her in a single almost hysterical desire to rouse her from her innocence and her ignorance. "Among all this great array of men and boys that you know--the uncle--yes, even the hired men," I laughed, "and all those blue-smocked boys at the Art School--whom do you really like the best?" So far her eyes journeyed off into the distance and back again I thought that she had not heard me. Then quite abruptly she answered me. And her voice was all boy-chorister again. "The best?--why, Allan John!" she said. Taken all in all there were several things said and done that evening that would have kept any normal hostess awake, I think.