“But you don’t desire her! There you are. And that’s good and sufficient proof that there’s where you ought to stop. It’s no funnier than that Joan tucks away whole saucerfuls of strawberries, and is ready to cry for more, while if I eat the smallest saucerful of them I’m crying _from_ them, not for them. It’s our digestion, our acids, our fitness, Kit! Don’t swallow a person who is not to your palate; you’ll be fatally ill if you do, my son,” preached Antony. “Cannibalistically put, but sound doctrine, Reverend Father Antony Paul!” said Kit. “And what shall you call the dog?” “Guard, short for Guardian,” said Antony, promptly. “I’m getting him to guard Barbara when she begins her excursions into a dangerous world.” Kit got into the house quietly on his return and went softly to his room, making signals to Minerva, whom he met in the hall, not to betray him. He wanted to set his thoughts in order before he met Helen. He wanted also to dress for dinner. He heard Helen’s silvery, prettily modulated voice as he slipped past his aunt’s sitting room. There was no denying that she had many gifts. When Kit came down an hour later his aunt and Helen were in the drawing room. He looked well with his clear-tinted skin, his fine features set into relief by the expanse of white linen which he wore. Helen estimated him anew as she arose to greet him. A glance would reveal Christopher Carrington a gentleman; that he could be trusted; that he was kind and upright and that, if he were not brilliant, he had excellent mental powers. “He does very well,” thought Helen, and extended her hand with a hearty friendliness that instantly demolished Kit’s barriers and made him slightly ashamed. It was caddish to have it in mind to refuse a hand that was held out as one boy greets another; after all, Helen might not be cognizant of his aunt’s plan, still less coöperating with it. Kit saw a girl as tall as he was, slender, with perfect dignity and grace of carriage; a handsome face, a well-shaped head upborne with spirit by a rounded neck that had the sweep of line that is best shown by an evening gown. The carefully arranged hair was pale gold in colour; not yellow, but the shade of the palest jonquils. “She’d look well at a court,” thought Kit, involuntarily recalling what his aunt had hinted of a future embassy through ex-Governor Abercrombie’s influence. But what he said aloud was: “Hallo, Helen! You’re beating yourself at your own game!” “Hallo, Kit! It’s this becoming gown. You look uncommonly fit, and aren’t ugly to-night, yourself,” retorted Helen. “It’s fine to see you again, nice Kitten! I like to come here because I can do and say and be exactly as I feel!” “Yes. I don’t know another girl to whom I can talk as I do to you, Nell,” said Kit, cordially, his old familiarity with her springing up now that he saw Helen in the body. His aunt’s attitude toward her was lost in Helen’s own frank attitude toward himself.