Collin laughed. “You’re a weird little thought,” he said carelessly. “Sometimes I think you’ll never grow old. We’ll be tottering graybeards and Ernestine and Thurley wrinkled dowagers, but you will still be Polly, brown-faced and boyish! Now, I say, why not give up your big dream for a bit, leave it for the next lifetime and will yourself to be born a long-haired Polish genius with opera scores fairly dripping off your brow—come on, Polly, be my secretary. I need one. Look at the young women who do Caleb’s stuff and Ernestine has that depressing, rubber tired young woman with a bumpy forehead and Thurley the Quinby monstrosity. I’m terribly behind. Please, help a chap out. It’s proper for you to be my secretary since no one can accuse us of being in love—I’ll leave you carte blanche and the key to Parva Sed Apta; you can tidy me up like a good elf, answer notes and even wash my paint brushes.” There was something gentle and generous in Collin’s joyous eyes as he watched her struggle _not_ to accept. “I’d be slacking from what I’ve set out to do,” she said finally. “This war may rob us of our future composers abroad and it’s my time to take their place. I study every night, Collin, no matter how I’ve been working and I’ve made plans for the summer.” “Study at Parva Sed Apta!” She shook her head. “I’d rather not. Maybe I’ll have to come to it some time, be an out and out dependent, perhaps—” Collin put his hand down to cover her small, brownish ones. “Why, Polly, you mustn’t go getting morbid. It’s that damned fire escape and attic of yours and the hungry wolves howling outside your door every time you’ve a crumb to spare. Come along into the sunshine—and filled pantry shelves. Play I’m big brother to a little bohemian.” They were standing for the “Star-Spangled Banner,” and Polly, glad of the release, sprang to her feet and lustily sang the words. But she persisted in her refusal and Collin, a little displeased, told Caleb before he left town to keep a weather eye on Polly and, if she started absurd things like fainting, to kidnap her and take her to Parva Sed Apta where she could protest in helpless but very comfortable surroundings! Collin did not in the least understand, despite his ability to read his subjects in banal, neutral fashion and to see the inner meanings. He was blind to Polly’s tragedy, one of the most cruel of tragedies in the world—unreturned yet undying love. In fact Collin was becoming used to his subjects’ asking that special skill be used in the painting of the lace wedding veil or accurate copying of the gold braided uniform of an army officer—so that popular marionettes were the result, when all the time it was with difficulty that his joyous eyes did not see far beneath the lace veil or the uniform and paint the obscure truths be they ugly or beautiful! * * * * *