intent only on being with Helen. The affection between the
twins was very close; but while their facial resemblance was
remarkable, their natures were totally dissimilar. Helen, the
elder by twenty minutes, was studious, shy, and too much given
to introspection; Barbara, on the contrary, was whimsical and
practical by turns, with a great capacity for enjoyment. The twins
had made their debut jointly on their eighteenth birthday,
and while both were popular, Barbara had received the greater
amount of attention.

Barbara tip-toed into the suite of rooms which the girls occupied
over the library, expecting to find Helen lying on the lounge;
instead, she found her writing busily at her desk. She tossed down
her pen as her sister entered, and, taking up a blotter, carefully
laid it across the page she had been writing.

"Thank heaven, I don't have to go to that supper party," Barbara
announced, throwing herself full length on the lounge.

"So father gave it up," commented Helen. "I am glad."

"Gave up nothing," retorted her sister. "He and Margaret Brewster
are going."

"What!" Helen was on her feet. "You let them go out alone together?"

"They can't be alone if they are together," answered Barbara
practically. "Don't be silly, Helen."

Helen did not answer at once; she had grown singularly pale. Walking