"Do you think so? It doesn't seem to me necessary to run away in order to straighten out." "Mr. Allen," said Blizzard, "should swear off stock-gambling, and marry a rich girl." "He's not that kind," said Barbara simply. And this swift, loyal statement did not please the beggar, since it argued more to his mind of the faith that goes with love than of that appertaining to friendship. He felt a sharp stab of jealousy, and had some ado to keep the pain of it from showing in his face. "Well," he said, "if anybody can help him, you can. And if you can't, send him to me. Oh, we've had dealings before now. I was even of real service to him once." "If that is true," Barbara thought, "it's rather rotten of Wilmot to keep running this poor soul down." Blizzard left with obvious reluctance. Two whole days without a sight of Miss Ferris seemed a very long time to him. "I shall miss these morning loafings." "Is that what you call posing?" "What else? You loaf now. Good luck to the tired eye and hand." "Thank you," said Barbara. "Next week we'll see if we can't really get somewhere." "We shall try," said Blizzard. He turned at the door. "I want to play for you some time," he said. "May I?" "Why, yes--of course." "At my place," he said. "I have a new piano in; it's very good. You see, I pound four or five of them to pieces in the course of a year. I thought perhaps you'd bring two or three or more of your friends who like music, I know _you_ do. I'll give you supper. Your friends might think it was a good slumming spree to come to a concert at my house. And I particularly want to play for you. I go for weeks without playing, and then the wish comes." She longed to ask him how he worked the pedals, and had to bite the question back. He laughed, reading her mind. "If you come," he said, "I will try to make you forget what I am--even what I look like. I should like you to know what I might have been--what I still might be." He went out abruptly and closed the door after him. Barbara mused for a minute and then rang for Bubbles. "I'm going out of town for over Sunday," she said. "What will you do?" "Me and Harry," said he, "is going down to the sea swimming." "Please give Harry my best wishes, Bubbles." The great eyes held hers for a minute and were turned away. He was sharp enough to know that through one of his idols the other had been hurt. And he found the knowledge sorrowful and heavy. "I'll do that," he said solemnly. That afternoon Wilmot Allen drove Barbara down to Meadowbrook. He had borrowed a sixty-horse-power runabout for the occasion, but displayed no anxiety to put the machine through its higher paces. "I've had a rough week," he said, "and my nerves are shaky. Do you mind if we take our time?" "No," said Barbara, "my nerves are shaky, too. And I want to talk to you without having the words blown out of my mouth and scattered all over Long Island."