“No,” Mrs. Dreen returned crisply, “she is not particularly goodlooking, but she has always told me the truth. Eliza is a dear.” Anthony lit a cigarette, and flipped the match in a minute gold arc, extinguished in the night. “I am decidedly uneasy about Eliza though,” she continued to Ellie; “to tell the truth, I am not sure how she will take over here. She is a serious child; I would say temperamental, but that's such an impossible word. She is absolutely and transparently honest and outspoken--it's _ghastly_ at times. The most unworldly person alive; with her thought and action are one, and often as not her thoughts are appalling. All that, you know, doesn't spell wisdom for a girl.” “Yet James and I couldn't bear to... make her harder. A great deal of care... If she is my daughter, Ellie, she is exquisite--so sensitive, sympathetic...” Anthony, absorbed in the misfortune that had overtaken the machine shop, the impending, inevitable interview with his father, so justly rigorous, hardly gathered the sense of Mrs. Dreen's discourse. Occasional phrases, familiar and unfamiliar terms, pierced his abstraction.--“Colombin's.” “James' siatica.” “Camille Marchais.” Then her words, centering about a statement that had captured his attention, became coherent, significant. “Only a small affair,” Mrs. Dreen explained; “to introduce Eliza to Ellerton. Nothing on a large scale until winter.... Dancing, or rather what goes down for dancing to-day. I am asking our old intimates, and have written a few informal cards.” An automobile drew up smoothly before the Balls; its rear light winked like an angry red eye through the iron fence. Mrs. Dreen rose. In the gloom her face was girlish; there was a blur of lace at her throat, a glimmer of emeralds. “Mind you come,” she commanded Ellie. “And you too, without fail,” to Anthony. “Now that Hydrangea House is open again we must have our friends about us. Heavens! Howard Ball's children and mine grown up!” She moved gracefully across to a garden gate. Anthony assisted her into the motorcar; the door closed with a snap. Ellie had sunk back into her chair, and was idly twisting her fingers in the grass at her side. At her back the ivied wall of the house beyond stirred faintly with sparrows. A misshapen moon swung apparently up from and through the building frame opposite, and faint shadows unfolded on the grass. Anthony flung himself moodily by his sister. “Sam's taken his car from us,” he informed her; “that will about shut up the shop.” “Then perhaps you will bring back the screwdrivers.” “To-morrow.” “What are you going to do, Tony?” “Tell me.” “A big strong fellow... there mast be something.” “Mother won't let me play ball in the leagues.” “Perhaps she will; we'll talk to her; it's better than nothing.” “I broke a box of rotten perfume at the drugstore, and owe the Doctor four seventy.”