“Too bad,” he went on. “I was rather in hopes you knew Billy. All sorts of a splendid fellow, and knows everybody.” “Not quite, it seems,” she reminded him, and he winced at the error. In spite of the sly smile that he had permitted to himself, he was unusually interested. He tried the weather, the flood, the accident, golf, books and three good, substantial, warranted jokes, but the conversation lagged in spite of him. Miss Van Kamp would not for the world have it understood that this unconventional meeting, made allowable by her wrenched ankle, could possibly fulfill the functions of a formal introduction. “What a ripping, queer old building that is!” he exclaimed, making one more brave effort as they came in sight of the hotel. “It is, rather,” she assented. “The rooms in it are as quaint and delightful as the exterior, too.” She looked as harmless and innocent as a basket of peaches as she said it, and never the suspicion of a smile deepened the dimple in the cheek toward him. The smile was glowing cheerfully away inside, though. He could feel it, if he could not see it, and he laughed aloud. “Your crowd rather got the better of us there,” he admitted with the keen appreciation of one still quite close to college days. “Of course, the mater is furious, but I rather look on it as a lark.” She thawed like an April icicle. “It’s perfectly jolly,” she laughed with him. “Awfully selfish of us, too, I know, but such loads of fun.” They were close to the Tutt House now, and her limp, that had entirely disappeared as they emerged from the woods, now became quite perceptible. There might be people looking out of the windows, though it is hard to see why that should affect a limp. Ralph was delighted to find that a thaw had set in, and he made one more attempt to establish at least a proxy acquaintance. “You don’t happen to know Peyson Kingsley, of Philadelphia, do you?” “I’m afraid I don’t,” she replied. “I know so few Philadelphia people, you see.” She was rather regretful about it this time. He really was a clever sort of a fellow, in spite of that smile. The center window in the second floor of the Tutt House swung open, its little squares of glass flashing jubilantly in the sunlight. Mrs. Ellsworth leaned out over the sill, from the quaint old sitting-room of the _Van Kamp apartments_! “Oh, Ralph!” she called in her most dulcet tones. “Kindly excuse yourself and come right on up to our suite for a few moments!” VI It is not nearly so easy to take a practical joke as to perpetrate one. Evelyn was sitting thoughtfully on the porch when her father and mother returned. Mrs. Ellsworth was sitting at the center window above, placidly looking out. Her eyes swept carelessly over the Van Kamps, and unconcernedly passed on to the rest of the landscape.