contrariness of Lily Bell on occasion overcame him.

"If she'll let you," he repeated, doggedly.

Margaret Hamilton stared at him and her eyes grew big.

"Won't you let me, if she doesn't?" she gasped. "Why--why--" The
situation overcame her. The big, brown eyes filled suddenly. A small
gingham back rippling with fat sobs was presented to Raymond Mortimer.
In him was born immediately man's antipathy to woman's tears.

"Oh, say," he begged, "don't cry; please don't." He approached the
gingham back and touched it tentatively. "She will let you play with
us," he urged. And then, moved to entire recklessness as the sobs
continued, "_I'll make her!"_ he promised. The gingham back stopped
heaving; a wet face was turned toward him, and a rainbow arched their
little heaven as Margaret Hamilton smiled. Her first triumph was
complete.

It is to be regretted that Lily Bell did not at once lend herself to
the fulfilment of this agreeable understanding. True, she appeared
daily, as of yore, and Margaret Hamilton was permitted to enter her
presence and join her games, but the exactions of Lily Bell became
hourly more annoying. It was evident that Raymond Mortimer felt them
as such, for his anguished blushes testified to the fact when he
repeated them to the victim.

"She wants you to go away off and sit down, so's you can't hear what
we're saying," he said to Margaret Hamilton one day. "I don't think
it's very p'lite of her, but she says you must."