the best in a matter of this sort."

She looked into his eyes dully for an instant, not realizing the
full importance of his confession.

"You, Monty?" she said, incredulously.

"I've got it bad, Peggy," he replied, staring hard at the floor.
She could not understand the cold, gray tone that suddenly
enveloped the room. The strange sense of loneliness that came over
her was inexplicable. The little something that rose in her throat
would not be dislodged, nor could she throw off the weight that
seemed pressing down upon her. He saw the odd look in her eyes and
the drawn, uncertain smile on her lips, but he attributed them to
wonder and incredulity. Somehow, after all these years, he was
transformed before her very eyes; she was looking upon a new
personality. He was no longer Montgomery, the brother, but she
could not explain how and when the change crept over her. What did
it all mean? "I am very glad if it will make you happy, Monty,"
she said slowly, the gray in her lips giving way to red once more.
"Does she know?"

"I haven't told her in so many words, Peggy, but--but I'm going to
this evening," he announced, lamely.

"This evening?"

"I can't wait," Monty said as he rose to go. "I'm glad you're
pleased, Peggy; I need your good wishes. And, Peggy," he
continued, with a touch of boyish wistfulness, "do you think