"So _that's_ where the shoe pinches!" And she whistled thoughtfully. And just then my upward reaching hand found hers. And yet no, it couldn't be her hand, either; it felt like the crash cover of the cushion--rough and fibrous. And yet, by Jove, it _was_ a hand, for it gave mine a grip that almost broke my fingers and then dropped them. By the time I looked up, I saw only her little palm resting upward on her knee. It was funny; but I had other things to think about than puzzles. She sighed. "Well, I'm the one that can feel for you, Dicky." Here the sigh lifted and her laugh pealed like a chime of silver bells. "I guess Brother Jack doesn't know as much about your affairs as he thinks, does he--eh? Why, he told me you were more afraid of a girl than of a mad dog." And a slapping grip fell on my shoulder that made me tingle from head to toe. And yet I wished she wouldn't do that; if she did it again, I should just lose my head--I knew I should. But here she rose, stretched her arms, and dropped into the wicker arm-chair. She hitched it nearer to me. "You see, it's like this," she began, assuming a confidential air. "You know my sister's up at school at Cambridge, too." "At Radcliffe College--yes." I nodded. "Why, yes. Well, it's her room-mate!" "Eh? I don't believe I--" I paused perplexedly. "That's right--her room-mate, I tell you! And in a day or two she's coming home with Sis for a visit. I want you to come up for a week end--won't you--and look her over--I mean, see her and tell me what you think of her. You'll go crazy about her--oh, I know you will!" I entered a protest. "Oh, I say now, you know, there's only one girl I ever saw I would care to look at twice." She smiled adorably. "Oh, don't I know all about how you feel? But I just want you to see this girl--she's the prettiest and swellest that's been around Boston for many a day; and on Sunday morning she could give the flag to all the Avenue. Why, Dicky, she's from China!" "China!" I must have looked the scorn I felt. "Oh, come now, you don't think a Chinese girl is--" "Not Chinese, Dicky." In her eagerness, she moved so near, the silk of her pajamas brushed my hand. "She's English. Her dad's the British Governor General of Hong Kong--Colonel Francis Kirkland, you know--beefy-looking old chap with white mutton chops--I saw his picture." Hong Kong! I wondered if she knew Mastermann, the chap who had sent me the red pajamas. Why, dash it, of course she would; for this fellow Mastermann was out there on government business, and he and the Governor must be thrown together a good deal. Her musical laugh broke in on my speculations. "But the funniest thing is, Dicky, her name's the same as mine." Her name! By Jove, and until this moment, I had not thought-- "Oh, I say," I exclaimed eagerly, "what _is_ your name, anyway?"