“I am not going down,” she told him, her glance falling to the rug at her feet. “I had breakfast late, and I am not a bit hungry.” “But that wouldn't be treating Uncle Tom quite right, you know,” Dearing gently protested, as he took a seat on the broad window-sill, swung his hat between his knees, and eyed her significantly. “You know how childish he is getting, Madge. It really upsets him not to have you at the table. He is old-fashioned, and was something of a beau when he was a young man. Making a fine lady of you and paying court to you seems to be about all the pleasure he gets in life. I know it must be tiresome, but there are many things we--” “He is _childish!_” Margaret exclaimed, her eyes flashing angrily, “but I bore with it because I loved him, and because mother would have approved it; but he is getting worse and worse. He wants me at his beck and call every minute in the day, and even if I go out to see one of my girl friends he either comes or sends one of the servants to see if anything has happened. Then he--he--oh, there are a lot of things a girl can't put up with!” “You mean his opposition to the visits of a certain friend of yours?” Dearing said, in a forced tone of indifference, as he glanced out at the window. Although his eyes were still ostentatiously averted, he saw her cautiously draw a blank sheet of paper over the lines she had written. “Yes,” she said, “that is _one_ thing. Fred Walton is a friend of mine, and for all I know his feelings may be hurt by what uncle has said and done. I know Fred is wild and reckless, but he has a good side to him--a side everybody can't see who doesn't know him intimately.” Young as he was, Wynn Dearing was wise in the ways of the world, and he well knew that a temperament and will like his sister's would never be coerced. He decided to profit by the error in the method of his blustering uncle. “You have never heard _me_ abuse Fred,” he said, gently. “Many young men who have wealthy parents are inclined to 'sow wild oats,' as the old folks say; but really, Madge”--and he was smiling now--“for an honest, inoffensive cereal, the 'wild oat' has to bear the burden of many a tough young weed. Charity is said to cover a multitude of sins, but for genuine selfsacrifice give me the old-fashioned, long-bearded wild oat, in all its verdant and succulent--” “Brother, I'm not in a mood for silliness!” the girl interrupted him, quickly, and with an impatient flush. “I'm not either, Madge.” He took one of his knees between his hands, and drew it up toward him. “The fact is, I am worried--worried like everything! I may not show it, but this thing has taken a deep hold on me. Something has got to be done, and that right away. Young folks may love each other, or _think_ they love each other, and if it does no harm to any one _else_, why, all well and good. But if their love business is causing suffering--yes, and positive bodily injury to another--then they ought to stop and ponder.”