Throughout this social revelry the heiress clung to her conquest like grim death. However much her girl friends might accuse her of "artful selfishness and selfish artfulness" she was clever enough to charm the young man by her uniform good temper and her frank delight in his society. Jim's heart was not mush, but he was human enough to enjoy a mild flirtation. He did not neglect other girls of his acquaintance entirely, but was most often seen in the society of the heiress; so gradually the others came to acknowledge her priority and expected only a modest share of his attention. To Susie Jim remained always friendly and considerate, and sometimes during that giddy first week of his vacation he would steal away to the Carleton porch to sit down for a peaceful hour with the little girl whose life he had saved. During these interviews Susie would praise Clara's beauty and accomplishments until Jim looked at her curiously and his face grew troubled. He would admit that the heiress was "good fun," but refrained from more enthusiastic comment. But there was only a week of this hero-worship. Then the sky fell, and Jim passed out of the lime-light into comparative oblivion. Katie Glaston came over from Chicago one day, and as she knew Gladys and Mary she was joyfully welcomed to the select circle of "the bunch." And of course one of her first experiences was to run against Jim and Clara on the board walk. They were bound for a boat ride and the girls halted them long enough to graciously introduce the "hero" to Katie. She acknowledged the introduction with marked coldness. "Glaston?" said Jim, reminiscently; "any relation to D. B. Glaston?" "He is my father, sir," said the young lady, and turned her back to speak with Betty. Jim raised his eyebrows slightly, smiled with quiet amusement, and then walked on beside Clara, who had noticed the snub and was angry and indignant. "What impudence!" she exclaimed, when they had passed out of earshot. "And from Katie Glaston, too! Why, Jim, her father is nothing more than a manager in a department store." "I know," said Jim, nodding. "He's my chief. I'm in his department at Marshall Field's." Clara shivered and stopped short. Then she walked on more slowly, with a red face and eyes staring straight ahead. "Don't joke, Mr. Ingram," she remonstrated. "Oh, I'm not joking," rejoined the young fellow, with a light laugh. "Didn't you know? I thought I had told you that I am a mere clerk in a department store." "I--I'm afraid one of my terrible headaches is coming on," she murmured, with embarrassment. "It is so hot this afternoon. Would you mind taking me home, Mr. Ingram?" "Perhaps it would be better," he said, quickly. "The sun will be fierce on the water, and a rest may save you from the headache."