Vera had raised her eyes and turned them toward the windows. Beyond the soot-stained sumach tree, the fire escapes of the department store, she saw the sun-drenched campus, the buttressed chapel, the ancient, drooping elms; and on a canvas bag, poised like a winged Mercury, a tall straight figure in gray, dusty flannels. “He was awfully good-looking,” murmured the girl, “and awfully tall. He could stop a ball as high as--that!” She raised her arm in the air, and then, suddenly conscious, flushed, and turned to the piano. “Go on, tell us,” urged Mabel. “So you first met him in Geneva, did you?” “No,” corrected Vera, “saw him there. I--only met him once.” Mannie interrupted hilariously. “I only saw him once, too,” he cried, “that was enough for me.” Vera swiftly spun the piano stool so that she faced him. Her eyes were filled with concern. “You, Mannie!” she demanded anxiously. “What had you done?” “Done!” exclaimed Mannie indignantly, “nothing! What’d you think I’d done? Did you think I was a crook?” Vera bowed her shoulders and shivered as though the boy had cursed at her. She shook her head vehemently and again swung back to the piano. Stumbling awkwardly, her fingers ran over the keys in a swift clatter of broken chords. “No,” she whispered, “no, Mannie, no.” With a laugh of delighted recollection, Mannie turned to Mabel. “He raided a poolroom I was working at,” he explained. “He picked me out as a sheet writer because I had my coat off, see? I told him I had it off because it was too hot for me, and he says, Young man, if you lie to me, I’ll make I a damn sight hotter!” Mannie threw back his head and shouted uproariously. “He’s all right, Winthrop!” he declared. Mabel, having already married Winthrop to Vera in Grace Church, with herself in the front pew, in a blue silk dress, received this unexpected evidence of his rare wit with delight. In ecstasy of appreciation she slapped her knees. “Did he say that, Mannie?” she cried. “Wasn’t that quick of him! Did you hear what he said to Mannie, Vera?” she demanded. Their mirth was interrupted by the opening and closing of the front door and, in the hall, the murmur of men’s voices. Vance opened the door from the hall and entered, followed by Judge Gaylor and Rainey. With evident pride in her appearance, Vance introduced the two men to his wife, and then sent her and Mannie from the room--the latter with orders to dismiss the visitors in the front parlor and to admit no others. At the door Mrs. Vance turned to Vera and nodded mysteriously. “If that party calls,” she said with significance, “I’ll put him in the front parlor.” With a look of dismay, Vera vehemently shook her head but, to forestall any opposition, Mrs. Vance hastily slammed the door behind her.