"Well," Billy said guardedly, "it may have been the fact that you were her brother that first attracted me--" "Why, you never saw her until we'd known each other several months--" "We were acquainted before that," was the admission; "but I really came to know you after you introduced me to her. That, Phil, was the best thing you ever did. It was after I met Merry that I discovered that you were the finest old scout in the world." "You make me tired!" Philip answered disgustedly. "I never saw any one so crazy over a girl. There are lots of other things in the world, Billy, besides girls. I'd hate to think of getting engaged up and having to train around with just one girl all my life." "That's because you can't marry Merry,--she's your sister." "I don't make any exceptions,--Merry's just a girl, like the rest of them." "You don't appreciate her, that's all." "Oh, Merry is all right, of course. She and I have always been good pals, and we've played together like two boys. She'd make any one a good wife if he didn't mind being bossed." Huntington listened to the tilt between the boys with amusement, and yet with a real feeling of envy. What riches these youths possessed with life all before them, its mysteries still unexplained, its illusions still unshattered! "I thought your sister the finest girl I ever met," he said to Philip, curious to see what response the boy would make. "Oh, she wouldn't show that side to you," Philip replied; "it's only with people her own age." Huntington winced. There it was again, and again he had brought it upon himself! To these boys he seemed an antique fossil of humanity, entitled to respect and veneration! He must appear the same to her. "People of her own age,"--of course, that was the natural thing as it would appear to any one. Again he cursed himself inwardly for being fool enough deliberately to open up the wound. Billy was delighted to hear his uncle's comment on the girl, and beamed contentedly. "You see, Phil," he said, "even Uncle Monty noticed what a corker she is, and usually he never looks at a girl twice. Uncle Monty is a cynic on marriage, a woman-hater and all that sort of thing. Yet even he noticed Merry." "Don't say that, Billy!" Huntington protested with unusual vehemence. "But you are," the boy insisted. "The last time I dined here with you and Mr. Cosden, before you went to Bermuda, I heard you tell him that many a married man who seemed contented was only resigned." "That doesn't mean that I'm a 'woman-hater'; I won't stand for it! Be careful what you say!" Billy looked at him in amazement. It was a rare thing to see his uncle ruffled. "I beg your pardon, Uncle Monty," he apologized. "I didn't intend to bump any one's feelings. Truly I wasn't joshing at all,--I thought you meant it! But I'm glad you didn't, for now you'll be more sympathetic with me, and you can help me a lot."