tried to kiss her, ashamed that he had fallen in with her suggestion for
a clandestine meeting this afternoon.

Possibly Madeline sensed that he was cold to her charms at the moment.
She flashed a shrewd glance at him.

"You don't like me as well to-day as you did last night," she challenged.

Caught, Ted tried half-heartedly to make denial, but the effort was
scarcely a success. He had yet to learn the art of lying gracefully
to a lady.

"You don't," she repeated. "You needn't try to pretend you do. You can't
fool me. You're getting cold feet already. You're remembering I'm
just--just a pick-up."

Ted winced again at that. He did not like the word "pick-up" either,
though to his shame he hadn't been above the thing itself.

"Don't talk like that, Madeline. You know I like you. You were immense
last night. Any other girl I know, except my sister Tony, would have had
hysterics and fainting fits and lord knows what else with half the excuse
you had. And you never made a bit of fuss about your head, though it must
have hurt like the deuce. I say, you don't think it is going to leave a
scar, do you?"

He leaned forward with genuine concern to examine the red wound.

"I think it is more than likely. Lot you'll care, Ted Holiday. You'll
never come back to see whether it leaves a scar or not. See that bee over