contain minerals. On this point Kate promptly advised her to write to Marvin’s father, but the advice was not well received. Mrs. Hogg had no notion of selling anything to an expert who might conceivably get rich out of it.

Meanwhile Cynthia made the most of her last opportunity, while her prey sat there flushed and frowning. She was not playing from scores, but ran from one thing into another. She would sway toward him, her fingers breathing intoxications. Now she broke into song, softly laving him with ripples of tropical seas or clasping him in mad arias. She played or sang for forty minutes. Then, as he had neither spoken nor touched her, she abruptly arose.

He followed her to the porch.

“Miss Coggeshall, the syringas smell very sweet. Will you ramble with me in the dark?”

Miss Kate dryly complied.

When they were out of earshot, he opened his heart.

“If I should get me a car and drive up here once a week next year, would you come for a drive and bring Miss Ferry?”

The principal of Eglantine laughed. “I know about that beryl. Are you in love with her?”

“Not especially, but I don’t enjoy being snubbed.”

“But suppose Jimmy—”

“He doesn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“By living with him. Jimmy’s only interest in life is to make safety devices for machinery.”

Kate reflected. “I owe everything to Susan Endicott Hogg, and I have a duty toward the Ferrys, but I have some sympathy with young folks.”

“Miss Kate, I told Mrs. Hogg that you’re the most wonderful teacher that ever lived.”

“That will do, Marvin.”

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