Laura was writing in an old ledger she had found in the attic, blank and unused. She had rebound it herself in heavy gray leather; and fitted it with a tiny padlock and key. She wore the key under her dress upon a very thin silver chain round her neck. Upon the first page of the book was written a date, now more than a year past, the month was June--and beneath it: "Love came to me to-day." Nothing more was written upon that page. CHAPTER FOUR Laura, at this writing, looked piquantly unfamiliar to her brother: her eyes were moist and bright; her cheeks were flushed and as she bent low, intently close to the book, a loosened wavy strand of her dark hair almost touched the page. Hedrick had never before seen her wearing an expression so "becoming" as the eager and tremulous warmth of this; though sometimes, at the piano, she would play in a reverie which wrought such glamour about her that even a brother was obliged to consider her rather handsome. She looked more than handsome now, so strangely lovely, in fact, that his eyes watered painfully with the protracted struggle to read a little of the writing in her book before she discovered him. He gave it up at last, and lounged forward blinking, with the air of finding it sweet to do nothing. "Whatch' writin'?" he asked in simple carelessness. At the first sound of his movement she closed the book in a flash; then, with a startled, protective gesture, extended her arms over it, covering it. "What is it, Hedrick?" she asked, breathlessly. "What's the padlock for?" "Nothing," she panted. "What is it you want?" "You writin' poetry?" Laura's eyes dilated; she looked dangerous. "Oh, I don't care about your old book," said Hedrick, with an amused nonchalance Talleyrand might have admired. "There's callers, and you have to come down." "Who sent you?" "A man I've often noticed around the house," he replied blightingly. "You may have seen him--I think his name's Madison. His wife and he both sent for you." One of Laura's hands instinctively began to arrange her hair, but the other remained upon the book. "Who is it calling?" "Richard Lindley and that Wade Trumble." Laura rose, standing between her brother and the table. "Tell mother I will come down." Hedrick moved a little nearer, whereupon, observing his eye, she put her right hand behind her upon the book. She was not deceived, and boys are not only superb strategic actors sometimes, but calamitously quick. Appearing to be unaware of her careful defence, he leaned against the wall and crossed his feet in an original and interesting manner. "Of course _you_ understand," he said cosily. "Cora wants to keep this Corliss in a corner of the porch where she can coo at him; so you and mother'll have to raise a ballyhoo for Dick Lindley and that Wade Trumble. It'd been funny if Dick hadn't noticed anybody was there and kissed her. What on earth does he want to stay engaged to her for, anyway?"