"I like tulips," murmured Barry, audaciously.

Mary laughed. What was the use? Barry was Barry. And Delilah Jeliffe
would flit in and out of his life as other girls had flitted; but always
there would be for him--Leila.

"If you were a woman," she said, "you'd know by her clothes, and the pink
of her cheeks, and by the way she does her hair--she's just a little too
much of--everything--Barry."

"There's just enough of Delilah Jeliffe," said Barry, "to keep a man
guessing."

"Guessing what?" Mary demanded with a spark in her eyes.

"Oh, just guessing," easily.

"Whether she likes you?"

Barry nodded.

"But why should you want to know, Barry? You're not in love with her."

His blue eyes danced. "Love hasn't anything to do with it, little solemn
sister; it's just in the--game."

Later they had a tilt over inviting Mary's lodger.

"It seems so inhospitable to let him spend the day up there alone."