touching them," explained Pearl. "He knows all the different kinds of
birds just by the whirr of their wings. He can tell the color of every
dress I wear. He--"

But Hugh had risen. "I don't like you to tell strangers about me," he
cried with passionate petulance, "and you know it. I'm going to find
mother."

"Well, tell her that Mr. Hanson's here," called Pearl after him,
unaffected by his outburst. "He hasn't taken a shine to you," she
remarked frankly to Hanson.

Again he was disturbed to notice that she seemed to give this obvious
fact some weight. She had rested her chin on her hand and was gazing
meditatively at the gay garden. A shadow of disappointment was on her
face, and more than a touch of it in her voice.

"That don't bother me," affirmed Hanson confidently. "All that I'm
caring about is whether some one else shares his opinion." His bold, gay
eyes looked straight into hers.

"I wonder who?" drawled Pearl. The gleam of her eyes shining through
narrowed lids and black, tangled lashes flicked him like the tang of a
whip. "Maybe you mean Lolita?"

The parrot, which had perched on her shoulder and was tweaking her ear,
now hearing its name, looked up, fluttered its wings, and called out in
a gruff, masculine voice: "Mi jasmin, Pearl. Mi corazon."

"He's talking for me, sure," said Hanson, who knew enough Spanish to