is nothing, up to date, in his history or achievements to inspire faith in a young woman of your type, but I have always dreamed of the day when he might fall in love, and with a girl who would set his feet on the upgrade.” Glen Darrow, looking at her and listening to her, had turned as pale as the President of the Federation. Twice she essayed to speak, but produced only a faltering murmur. “What he needs--all he needs,” the older woman went on, “is an awakening; something to jar him out of this absurd pose of persiflage. I have been in such _terror_ that he would be attracted by one of the girls in his young set; you know the type I mean; it would put the final seal upon his uselessness. But if a girl with character and purpose could possibly come to care for him, to see through the youth and nonsense of him what I honestly believe to be there”--the tears were coming again, faster than before, and she had to devote an instant to their disposal. “I beg your pardon; I am not an emotional woman, and rarely give way to my feelings. But--Miss Darrow--I suppose it is a waste of breath to ask you to reconsider--to ask if you think there is any chance that you might change----” It was still bewilderingly hard to find words and produce them, but Glen shook her head with its brazen glory of copper-colored hair. “I hadn’t much hope,” it came desolately. “But I find it much harder, now, to give up what little hope I had. Oh, Miss Darrow,” she stepped toward the doctor’s daughter who retreated a little as she advanced, and halted, by a pixie trick of circumstance upon the Persian rug, “I wish, I wish more than any words can express to you that you could find it in your heart to marry my son!” CHAPTER XVI _Gloriana-Virginia proves that it was really a Wishing Carpet, after all!_ OTHER plans were being made for young Mr. Peter Parker of Pasadena at almost the same moment. Cousin Mary-Lou Tenafee had coaxed her Cousin ’Gene Carey to allow himself to be driven out to Beulah-land for the last day of her house-party, because it would be a nice change for the dear old thing, and because she wished to confer with him upon a pleasing matter. She herself mixed a toddy for him in her husband’s study while her guests were dressing for dinner, and watched him fondly while he reveled in it. “By gad, Mary-Lou,” he said appreciatively, “I swear Bob Lee couldn’t have done better himself! My dear child, I wonder if you realize what it means to have such an excellent cellar in these--these----” “Dry or dangerous days?” the girl widow smiled. “I think I do, Cousin ’Gene. It certainly insures popularity.” The old gentleman got to his feet with some difficulty, for the paralyzed side was still cumbersome. “Your popularity would be insured on a sea of lemonade, my dear,” he toasted her gallantly.