Thurley tried not to laugh and succeeded in commanding an unbecoming frown. “Well, you didn’t try to restrain her,” she insisted. “Ernestine is a different type. I’m afraid you wouldn’t look at mere Hindu poets or consuls.” “What of yourself?” “Hands up, I confess. I had a passion for coaching tours and those horrible alderman-like banquets. I seemed to be tremendously popular with the buds—I was cad enough to keep all their letters for a long time. When they began to have grandchildren send me notes saying, ‘Granny says to ask if you remember the time you played _Romeo_ and so and so’—I stopped being such a great house, ordered health-last shoes and got a line on the really reliable sanitariums. But you, Thurley,”—The old-beau aspect of himself seemed dimmed; he appeared a fatherly old gentleman rich in experience and therefore wise in judgment. She felt like a naughty child who has been discovered while parading in her mother’s finery. She could not have told why, but she felt artificial, as if she should be on the stage of the opera house singing her heart away in some lavish rôle—as _Violetta_ in “Traviata” for instance—but not as Thurley Precore! “You’d even make me believe there was no Santa Claus,” she protested, the actress in her rallying to her support. “Don’t tell me to don a pinafore and become interested in botany! It’s such fun to play—and so new; none of you seem to realize that.” Here she trailed off into silence, busy with her own thoughts, Mark’s corsage slipping from her fingers. She was remembering Dan and Lorraine and the day the child Thurley and Philena pledged to be missionaries, the advent into the Clergy mansion as a madcap mischief, the singing in Betsey’s parlor that momentous June day, the quarrel with Dan, the wonderful journey to the city with the ghost-lady, then Bliss ... here the thoughts ended and she found herself thanking Sam for returning her corsage. “As for this sort of thing,” the old actor finished, pointing at the corsage, “you’ll have many of them—but choose wisely and for all time. Don’t waste time on worthless phantoms; remember ‘To-morrow feeds on yesterday.’ Even if you fancy you are merely playing at being a ‘grand lady,’ and that you yourself are unspoiled and truly great, think of the bon mot: ‘Imitation is sincerest flattery,’ and do not ape Lissa any more than you can help.” “None of you understand,” she cried, rebelliously. “I shall do as I wish and live as I choose—as you have all done.” “Look at us and take warning,” ended Sam promptly. “Well, if you get crowded to the wall, call on me. I’ll be about.” After this he went on his way undecided whether or not merely to admire Thurley as another dear charmer on whom his heart had undeniably been frittered away or to take her seriously as if she were a hope-to-die ward given into his guardianship.