Sue was very smart in a linen habit, and she gave the three glum faces an encouraging and hospitable smile. “Oh, it won’t matter in the least if you keep me a few minutes,” she declared, shaking hands warmly. “Do sit down.” She indicated the library couch. “You see, I’m only going for a ride, and Phil hasn’t come yet.” She took a plump chair which was in front of the couch and leaned back to recover breath after her tripping rush down the stairs. “Phil!” repeated the three in chorus, and dropped rather precipitately upon the couch. Then: “We are just in time!”--this from Mr. Hammond. Sue leaned forward suddenly. Her eyes were dark-blue and heavy-lashed, and now they looked her solicitude. “Is something--wrong with Phil?” she asked. Mr. Courtney Graves, Second Forward of the team, almost stared at her. “Wrong?” he repeated. “Haven’t you heard?” “No.” She looked from one to another, the colour going from her cheeks. “Bob! What is it?” Mr. Robert St. Ives, Half-back, began: “It’s a mess, Sue, hanged if it isn’t!--a confounded mess. Phil was to play against the Hadbury team, you know, and reserved us for the game.” “Yes.” With one hand Sue smoothed a round gold locket that hung between the lapels of her coat. “Now,” continued Mr. St. Ives, biting each word short to give it full significance, “--now, all at once, he’s dropped off in his practice, says he doesn’t want to go to Hadbury, wants _me_ to be captain--rot! And he spends his time in his car, while his ponies hammer their legs to pieces in their boxes. We got _that_ much from Larry.” She leaned back once more, relieved and smiling. “Why has Phil changed?” she inquired in mild surprise. “Because he wants to stay at Brampton,” answered Mr. St. Ives forcibly, “and motor when he can, or hang out on the club veranda when she won’t motor. That’s why.” “She?” said Sue, under her breath. “Who?” Mr. Courtney Graves stood up and pointed, first to the fireplace, then to a writing-desk, last of all to a panel between two bookcases. Above the fireplace, on the carved mantel, was the full-length portrait of a beautiful girl--a dark, imperious, queenly girl in ball dress. On the writing-desk, in delicate frames of hand-wrought silver, were two other photographs of the same girl. One of these showed her in a trailing carriage-coat, with furs; the other was a lake scene, and she was seated in a drifting boat, with a ruffled parasol shading her lovely face. In the panel between the bookcase was a fourth picture of the selfsame subject--an etching done with great skill and effectiveness. The dark girl, gowned in clinging white, was shown against a massed background. A flowered hat rested upon her poised head; one hand was outstretched to feed a fawn. “He has it!” announced Mr. Graves portentously; “he’s another added to the epidemic. Sue, Phil Rawson’s in love with Genevieve Unger.” Whereupon he sank between his companions. Sue did not speak, but sat regarding them from the depths of her chair.