Four days of sun and rain, astride of a bicycle, without food or sleep,
had drawn his face into fine, hard lines, had bronzed it with a healthy
tan. His uniform, made by the same tailor that fitted him with polo
breeches, clung to him like a jersey. The spectacle he presented was
that of an extremely picturesque, handsome, manly youth, and of that
fact no one was better aware than himself.

"Look at me," he begged, sadly.

Miss Farrar was entirely unimpressed.

"I am!" she returned, coldly. "I never saw you looking so well--and you
know it." She gave a gasp of comprehension. "You came here because you
knew your uniform was becoming!"

Lathrop regarded himself complacently.

"Yes, isn't it?" he assented. "I brought on this war in order to wear
it. If you don't mind," he added, "I think I'll accept your invitation
and come inside. I've had nothing to eat in four days."

Miss Farrar's eyes flashed indignantly.

"You're NOT coming inside," she declared; "but if you'll only promise to
go away at once, I'll bring you everything in the house."

"In that house," exclaimed Lathrop, dramatically, "there's only one
thing that I desire, and I want that so badly that 'life holds no charm
without you.'"