"Yes; we'll put our heads together in the morning." Thatcher was as gay as the young people when they sat down to dinner, and entered into the enjoyment of the home-coming so heartily that Marian was relieved. "All you needed, Harry, was to have Phil come home," she said. "Couldn't you telephone for another ticket and go with us?" "Not to-night; I have work to do. To-morrow Phil is going to lend a hand, and then perhaps we'll have some play together.--Tell us of your uncle, Billy." "Oh, Uncle Monty is all right,--except that he's become so terribly sober and serious. What did you people do to him down at Bermuda? He hasn't been the same since." "He was serious down there," Merry asserted. "Oh, he never was a cut-up, of course," Billy explained; "but he was always saying things to make you laugh, and I could jolly him just as if he was one of the fellows." "Can't you do it now?" Mrs. Thatcher inquired. "No; if I do he gets sore. Why, only the other night Phil and I went in there to dinner. I made some remark about his being a woman-hater, and he got huffed up in a minute. Didn't he, Phil?" "Monty Huntington a woman-hater?" Mrs. Thatcher laughed. "No wonder he was 'huffed'!" "But he never married, did he? Isn't that a sure sign that he's a woman-hater?" "Oh, dear no!" Mrs. Thatcher insisted. "That may be taken quite as much as an evidence of his profoundest respect and veneration for woman. In fact, if fifty per cent. of the men who do marry would refrain from it no greater tribute could be paid us!" The boy looked at her inquiringly. "Do all older people run marriage down like that?" he inquired. "Every time the subject comes up some one gives it a knock. With Uncle Monty, of course, it's sour grapes, because now he's so old no one would think of marrying him, but--" "He's not so old," Merry interrupted unexpectedly and with such force that Billy was taken by surprise. "Oh, ho!" Billy cried. "So that's the way the land lies! Now you've said a mouthful. This is a case of mutual admiration! Uncle Monty told us the other night that you were the finest girl he ever saw." "He did!" Merry cried, the blood rushing into her cheeks and her face aglow with pleasure. "I wish I thought he really meant it!" "He meant it all right," Philip corroborated. "Mr. Huntington doesn't make mouth-bets. He was calling me down for saying that you were just like other girls." "Were you so ungallant as that?" Thatcher asked. "Whatever else happens, Phil, we must stand up for the family." "Of course," he admitted; "but Billy was talking about Merry in superlatives as usual, and I was trying to quiet him down." "Phil is doing his best to put me in wrong again," Billy protested. "Now I'll tell you just what happened and you can judge for yourselves: I was telling Uncle Monty how happy I was to be invited here for Easter, and how glad I should be to see you all--" "You never said a word about any one but Merry," Philip interrupted.