“I rather doubt my getting to Berlin this year,” he said cautiously. He would tell her nothing more definite, but she was not really surprised when, before she had been a week with the Bagsburys, he came to call on her. He was as unconcerned about it as though he had lived all his life just around the corner. He was so jolly and companionable, so much the old comrade and so little the despairing lover that, try as she might, Dick could not be sorry that he was there. He would tell her nothing about his plans save that he meant to stay around for a while. He said he found he could think better when he was within a mile of where she lived, and no entreaties could drive him away. That was in July, and now, at Christmas, the situation was unchanged. With any other man it would have been intolerable, but he was different. Save on rare occasions, he was always just as on that first evening, the same lazy, amused, round-faced, good-hearted Jack. And she was forced to admit to herself that she was glad he had persisted in disobeying her. He was easily the best friend she had. To no one else could she show her thoughts just as they came, without stopping first to look at them and see if they held together. With no one else did she feel beyond the possibility of misunderstanding. He was--oh, he was the best of good comrades. * * * * * Ah, Dick! your eight minutes have slipped away and another eight, and still you are not dressed for dinner. CHAPTER III THE WILL