"He's polite to everybody," said Lee; "that's why I don't like him. He's not a real artist. He's a courtier. God gave him a talent, and he makes a mean use of it. Uses it to flatter people. He's like these long-haired violinists who play anything you ask them to in the lobster palaces." Miss Gardner looked away from him. Her color was high and her eyes very bright. "I think," she said steadily, "that Mr. Stedman is a great artist, and some day all the world will think so, too!" Lee made no answer. Not because he disagreed with her estimate of Mr. Stedman's genius-he made no pretense of being an art critic--but because her vehement admiration had filled him with sudden panic. He was not jealous. For that he was far too humble. Indeed, he thought himself so utterly unworthy of Frances Gardner that the fact that to him she might prefer some one else was in no way a surprise. He only knew that if she should prefer some one else not all his troop horses nor all his men could put Humpty Dumpty back again. But if, in regard to Mr. Stedman, Miss Gardner had for a moment been at odds with the man who loved her, she made up for it the day following on the tennis court. There she was in accord with him in heart, soul, and body, and her sharp "Well played, partner!" thrilled him like one of his own bugle calls. For two days against visiting and local teams they fought their way through the tournament, and the struggle with her at his side filled Lee with a great happiness. Not that the championship of Agawamsett counted greatly to one exiled for three years to live among the Moros. He wanted to win because she wanted to win. But his happiness came in doing something in common with her, in helping her and in having her help him, in being, if only in play, if only for three days, her "partner." After they won they walked home together, each swinging a fat, heavy loving-cup. On each was engraved: "Mixed doubles, Agawamsett, 1910." Lee held his up so that the setting sun flashed on the silver. "I am going to keep that," he said, "as long as I live. It means you were once my 'partner.' It's a sign that once we two worked together for something and won." In the words the man showed such feeling that the girl said soberly: "Mine means that to me, too. I will never part with mine, either." Lee turned to her and smiled, appealing wistfully. "It seems a pity to separate them," he said. "They'd look well together over an open fireplace." The girl frowned unhappily. "I don't know," she protested. "I don't know." The next day Lee received from the War Department a telegram directing him to "proceed without delay" to San Francisco, and there to embark for the Philippines. That night he put the question to her directly, but again she shook her head unhappily; again she said: "I don't know!"