"Is his name by any chance Blizzard?"

She looked up in astonishment "How did you know?"

"Oh," he said cheerfully, "I've knocked about the city and known all
sorts of curious people, and heard about others. So Blizzard's your new
model. Now look here, Barbara, are we old friends, or aren't we?"

"Very old friends," she said.

"Then let me tell you that you're a little fool to have anything to do
with a man like that. You can't touch pitch, you know, and--"

"I only touch him with a pair of compasses," she interrupted sweetly.

"Don't quibble," said Allen with energy; "it's not like you. That man is
so bad, so unsavory, so vile, that you simply _mustn't_ have him about.
He's dangerous."

"So is a volcano," said Barbara, "but there's no reason why the most
innocent bread-and-butter miss shouldn't paint a picture of a volcano if
she felt inspired."

"I see that there's only one thing to do. I shall tell your father."

Wilmot Allen was genuinely troubled. And Barbara laughed at him.

"I'm not a child," she said.

"That's just it," said he; "that's why you ought to be ashamed of