“Where did you get it, Sue?” he asked. “You remember the party your mother gave for your sixteenth birthday?” she whispered. “Well, that night this was in her dressing-room. And--and--you know I said either one of us would do if we were tempted just right--Phil, I--I stole it!” Opening his eyes in mock displeasure, Phil held her at arm’s length for a moment. Then very solemnly, he led her to a window. “You stole it?” he said; “you--fifteen hands and every inch a lady? Well, let me warn you never, never to let that man know!” And he pointed down to the edge of the terrace where, waiting, with one hand at the bit of a grey pony, and the other at the bit of a brown, stood a red-haired, red-cheeked groom. AGATHA’S ESCORT A fluff of brown hair through which ran unexpected glints of yellow; unforgettable violet-blue eyes, curtained by black lashes that were long and upcurling; a straight nose of a much-approved size, with delicately thin nostrils; a small, very red, and somewhat pouty mouth; a determined chin; rounded cheeks just brushed by scarlet and punctuated by a pair of busy and bewitching dimples; a slender throat; a _svelte_, girlish figure in a smart, linen _trotteur_; the very newest--and tiniest--thing in sensibly stout tan walking-boots; and, lastly, to top the rest, an irresistible millinery confection in tones of buff and crocus, with feathers to dance against the fluff of hair below--all this was Agatha Kerr, beautiful, adorable, spoiled Agatha Kerr. At the moment, she was seated in a high-backed chair in the inner law-office of Avery & Avery. Her face was flushed with annoyance, and she was poking viciously at her boots with the point of her parasol. “A woman of twenty-two,” she burst forth presently, with a resentful toss of her head, “a college graduate, should certainly be able to go out of the house by herself.” Close beside her sat her aunt, a lady whose chin was quite as unyielding as her own. At this point, Auntie rolled her eyes at Mr. Avery and sniffed audibly. “And conduct her chosen life’s _work_,” resumed Agatha, striking a higher key, “without being constantly harassed!” “You are to be protected,” contradicted her aunt, crisply serene. “Mr. Avery, this child is studying--er, what do you call it, Agatha?” “Sociology,” again attacking her boots. Mr. Avery looked incredulous. A young woman whose thoughts turned to philosophy should be a homely and angular female with large feet, a thinned coiffure, no waist-line, and a general appearance of having dressed overhastily. But here---- “It is a study that takes her into places,” continued the elder woman, “where a young lady should not be seen alone.” “Methods of study have changed,” said Mr. Avery. “I discover that in discussions with my nephew.” “Geoffrey?” questioned Auntie. “Isn’t he up at Columbia?” “No, he has graduated and is here with me, reading law.”