"Well, he's a comic supplement,"--Dunce snapped his teeth viciously, "he's a--an Egyptian obelisk," raged the boy, "and I'd like to cut some more hieroglyphics on him." So the two sat in the little roadster, arrested in their impulsive pampered lives by one of the greatest laws that has ever been laid on humanity, the Law of Obedience, incoherent in their inner warrings of hurt pride, they tried to sustain each other. Dunstan's awkward arm went once around Minga's little red-clad figure; he strove in a callow way to be tender, but only for a moment. For a tempestuous Minga stood up straight in the car. "For Heaven's sa-sake," she demanded with a slight sob, "For Heaven's sake,"--gulp--"what do you think this is, Dunce Bogart, one of those petting parties? Do you think I'm a park lady or one of those Sunday-school picnic vamps?" Dunce looked sheepishly determined. "You remember what I said that first night," he said solemnly, "that I'd kiss you again--and better--that's what you'll--you'll feel, some day." To her disdainful silence he went on, "Well, I haven't yet, but I'm going to; you wait." He wagged his head. But there was a little distressed quiver in her voice, and the essential manhood in Dunstan answered it with gentleness. He himself rose and the two climbed soberly down out of the car. Through the great trees they saw the cathedral moonlight still silvering all the world and the sleep and quiet, the majesty of the night, touched them. They saw depths of life that they had never fathomed; depths that saddened and frightened them. Together they softly closed the garage doors, together they entered the dark house and crept slowly up-stairs. "Good-night, Minga," said Dunstan softly. "Do you care that--that I was there----" The boy looked solemnly at her. The girl, pausing at the door of her room, lifted her head and looked at him. "You were the only decent person on the whole trip," she said softly. She put her hand in his; it was cold and little. Dunstan, wondering, felt it tremble. When a boy goes to bed remembering a girl's trembling hand does he ever ask himself who made that hand tremble, or does he always feel sure that it was he who stirred the young life to quivering? CHAPTER XI TERMS