"Confound it--I believe she ’s gone to sleep!" he said to himself, and rose abruptly, to stand looking down at her, discomfited and very nearly angry. Of all the odd girls, one who would tell you to stop talking, and then go off to sleep in your presence, was certainly the oddest. He supposed she might be tired, and with reason, but--to go to sleep! The shaded electric bulbs, which hung at each corner of the porch, at this moment came glowingly into life, as somebody within switched on the current. They were not designed to illuminate the porch strongly, only to turn its gloom into a mellow moonlight effect. But the light was quite sufficient to show Brant that although Shirley’s lashes still swept her cheek, her lips were smiling. "It was a frightful test of your friendship, n’t it?" she murmured, without opening her eyes. "But you did nobly. I never thought you could hold out so long!" "You--rascal! I ’ll wager you wanted to talk, yourself, after a while." "Of course I did. The minute a woman gets what she wants, she wants--something else." "What is it now? Me to go home?" "How distrustful of yourself you are to-night!" "That’s the effect you usually have on me." Brant drew up a chair. "Shirley," he began again abruptly, "do you know what I wish?" "No." "Do you want to know it?" "Not badly." "You don’t care a straw for me, do you?" "Several straws." "You do! I say----" A door opened. Sophy said, deferentially, "You ’re wanted at the telephone, if you please, Miss Shirley." Shirley vanished. Brant rose and paced about the porch, waiting. "Of course it’s no use!" he said, discontentedly, to himself. "I ’ve got as far as this forty times--and no farther. The next thing she did would be to throw a soaking wet blanket over me. I ought to be used to it. But she might at least take me seriously. She never does. It ’s no good--this growing up with a girl and then trying to convince her that you mean anything when you speak!" Inside, Shirley was listening to a rapid fire of words which woke her up as thoroughly as anything had ever done in her life. They came in the voice of Peter Bell, a voice at once excited and controlled: "Shirley, the factory is on fire. I don’t want father to hear about it--he ’d come down--you understand. Will you think up some way to get him off with yourself for the next hour? We ’ll probably have to turn in a general alarm, and if we do, somebody ’ll be sure to call him up and tell him. That ’s all. I can count on you?" "Yes--yes. Peter----" But Peter was already gone. Evidently he had no time to spare for answering questions. Shirley turned away from the telephone, thinking rapidly.