Phillip stared. Betty continued to smile with bright and amiable politeness. Phillip sat down. As she had made no move toward taking the photograph, he laid it irresolutely on a table at his elbow and then stared at his shoes with such apparent interest that Betty was moved to silent laughter. “It is still snowing, I think,” she said. As she sat with her back to the windows her uncertainty may have been excusable. Phillip looked out into the blinding storm and answered gravely in the affirmative. He had an uncomfortable feeling that Betty was secretly laughing at him, and his anger, which had died overnight, began to show signs of returning animation. He arose and secured the top button of his coat to the second buttonhole. “I will say good-evening,” he announced. “But it’s only afternoon!” exclaimed Betty, just as though she had not a dozen times before corrected Phillip for that Southernism. “Good-afternoon,” he amended with much dignity. “Oh,” said Betty, “must you go so soon? Then you are not going to tell me, after all!” she added regretfully. Phillip struggled for a moment with curiosity. Then he yielded. “Tell you what?” “What you were going to tell me yesterday. I believe you’ve forgotten!” “No, but――but――――” “Then you’ll tell me?” she asked eagerly. Phillip glanced behind him. The chair was still there. He sat down. “If you want to know,” he muttered. “Of course I do. I want to know why you have not been in to see us for so long.” “Is――has it seemed long?” he asked hopefully. Betty nodded earnestly. “Weeks!” “It’s been two months!” he protested. “Really? How times flies, doesn’t it?” said Betty, wonderingly. Phillip wished he had resisted temptation; the storm looked so much kinder than Betty. “It hasn’t fly――flown for me,” he muttered. “But then you’ve had examinations,” said Betty sympathetically. “I’m sure they must be dreadfully slow things.” “Yes.” There followed silence. “Well?” prompted Betty. “I’m waiting, you know.” “I don’t think――――” he began. Then his anger stirred once more and he faced her accusingly. “You don’t want to know,” he charged. “You――you’re just making fun of me! You’re laughing at me all the time! You’re――you’re cruel!” “Phil!” His anger died instantly. His face lighted. “I beg your pardon, Betty, but――but――I don’t know what to think!” “Think of what you are going to tell me,” advised Betty. “I don’t believe you have any excuse, after all; you’re simply trying to gain time to invent one.” “I’m not, Betty! Only――somehow, it doesn’t seem a very good excuse when it comes to explaining,” faltered Phillip. “And I daresay you’ll be frightfully bored.” Betty shook her head. “You won’t? Well――――”