It all came about in quite the most unforeseen manner. Roy had promised to play tennis with her the afternoon of Doctor Emery's announcement. They had had quite a few contests already and Harry had proved herself more than a match for Roy. To-day they met outside the cottage, Harry bringing her own racquet and one for Roy, since tennis had scarcely been included in his education and he possessed no racquet of his own. Unfortunately Roy started the conversation by accusing Harry of having broken her promise. That was an awful accusation to bring against her, since she had an almost quixotic regard for the given word. Stung, she made no effort to set herself right, only declared sullenly that she had done no such thing. Roy had not greatly cared, but her curt denials aroused his impatience. [Illustration: "'My, what a temper!'"] "But, Harry," he protested, "you must have! He said so!" "I didn't! I didn't! I didn't!" "But, Harry, that's nonsense, you know." "I didn't break my promise," she answered angrily. "Well, then I'd just like to know how he found out. Of course I don't care much if you did tell him, only--" "You've just as good as said I've told a lie!" cried Harry, turning suddenly with reddening cheeks. "I haven't, Harry." "You have, too! So! And you--you're very impolite!" "Oh, pshaw, there's no use in getting mad about it. I only said--" "I'll get mad if I want to," said Harry hotly. "And I guess I can keep a promise as well as you can. You're just stuck-up because you made that old touchdown!" "I'm not!" "You are!" "My, what a temper! Just what you'd expect of a girl with red hair! Why, I wouldn't--" But he stopped there, for Harry's face went suddenly white with rage and she gasped as though he had struck her. "Now look here, Harry," he began contritely. But Harry had found her tongue and he got no farther. "Oh, you coward!" she cried, trembling. "You--you beast! I know my hair's red, and I don't care if it is! And, anyway, I'd rather have it red than just no color at all, like--like a fish!" "Harry, I didn't mean--" "Don't you speak to me again, ever and ever! I don't want to see you! I hate you, hate you, hate you, Roy Porter, and I'll never speak to you again as long as I live!" "Oh, if you want to be nasty about it," muttered Roy. But Harry had turned and was running swiftly along the path, trying her best to keep back the angry tears that threatened every moment to disgrace her. Roy watched her go, whistled softly, and then followed slowly after. "What a little spit-fire!" he muttered with a laugh that was half angry and half regretful. "I don't see what I said, anyhow, except that her hair was red. And it is, as red as fire! If she wants to stay mad she may for all I care." And then, two days later, there occurred an incident which still further widened the breach between them.