He watched her until the door had closed and then swung gaily toward Cambridge. He would walk back, he told himself, because the car had yet to be made that was large enough to hold him. CHAPTER XII On Friday at three o’clock Phillip strode through the crowd of bundle-laden men and women in front of the waiting-room in the square and, stationing himself on the curbstone under John’s front window, gazed upward and yelled lustily until John stuck his head out and said: “Shut up or you’ll wake Davy. Come on up.” So Phillip climbed the stairs――something he might have done in the first place had it not been contrary to established custom――and found David snoring in an armchair with a lap full of books and John sorting out some golf clubs. “I’m going up to the links with Larry Baker. Want to come along? Fresh air’ll do you good.” “Can’t,” answered Phillip; “I’ve got to shoot. We begin at three. What time is it?” “Three ten.” “Really? I’ll have to hurry, won’t I?” He sat down and brought forth a letter from one of his pockets. “I got this a little while ago. It’s from Margey. You know I wrote them on Sunday that I was going to bring you home with me for Christmas if you’d come, and this is what Margey says. Let’s see.... Um!... Here it is: ‘Mamma is so pleased at the prospect of seeing Mr. North and wants you to tell him for her that he will be very welcome for as long as he cares to stay. And she thinks you should explain that her health will not allow her to write to him in person. She fears he will consider her ungrateful for his kindness. You must tell him, Phil dear, that we are plain folks nowadays, and that Elaine is not very exciting. We wouldn’t want him to be disappointed, would we? Mamma says we must get up a dance or something for him. Does he like dancing? I have been wondering――――’ Er, that’s all, I reckon. The rest is just nonsense.” “Do you mean to tell me that your sister can write nonsense, Phil?” asked John. “Why, yes; why?” “No reason why she shouldn’t, of course. Only I’d somehow got the idea that she was an extremely dignified and serious-minded young lady.” “Oh, Margey’s serious-minded, I reckon――at times. But she’s silly, too. All girls are, aren’t they? That is,” amended Phillip, thinking of Betty, “most girls are. I know one that isn’t.” “Hello!” said John, pausing in the act of pulling on his golf boots. “I thought I could discern an unusual buoyancy about you of late. Not a college widow, I hope?” “No, of course not. But I must be getting on. You’ll come, won’t you?” “To Virginia? Yes, Phil. And when you write please thank your mother and―――― How about your sister? Think she wants me to come?” “Why, of course.” “Oh; I didn’t gather that impression from what you read me. I believe she didn’t mention herself, did she?” “That doesn’t make any difference. She’ll be tickled to death.”