"Why, of course I live in a house," laughed Barton.

"O--h," breathed little Eve Edgarton. "Re--ally? It must be
wonderful." Wiltingly her eyes, her hands, drooped back to her
scrap-book again. "In--all--my--life," she resumed monotonously, "I've
never spent a single night--in a real house."

"What?" questioned Barton.

"Oh, of course," explained the girl dully, "of course I've spent no
end of nights in hotels and camps and huts and trains and steamers
and--But--What color is your house?" she asked casually.

"Why, brown, I guess," said Barton.

"Brown, you 'guess'?" whispered the girl pitifully. "Don't you--know?"

"No, I wouldn't exactly like to swear to it," grinned Barton a bit
sheepishly.

Again the girl's eyes lifted just a bit over-intently from the work in
her lap.

"What color is the wall-paper--in your own room?" she asked casually.
"Is it--is it a--dear pinkie-posie sort of effect? Or just
plain--shaded stripes?"

"Why, I'm sure I don't remember," acknowledged Barton worriedly. "Why,
it's just paper, you know--paper," he floundered helplessly. "Red,
green, brown, white--maybe it's white," he asserted experimentally.