my pet pastime. I've lived petticoats, I've talked petticoats, I've
sold petticoats, I've dreamed petticoats--why, I've even worn the
darned things! And that's more than any man will ever do for you."

[Illustration: "'I've lived petticoats, I've talked petticoats, I've
dreamed petticoats--why, I've even worn the darn things!'"]

Young T. A. rose. He laughed a little laugh of sheer admiration.
Admiration shone, too, in those eyes of his which so many women found
irresistible. He took a step forward and laid one well-shaped hand on
Emma McChesney's arm. She did not shrink, so he let his hand slip down
the neat blue serge sleeve until it reached her snugly gloved hand.

"You're all right!" he said. His voice was very low, and there was a
new note in it. "Listen, girlie. I've just bought a new sixty-power
machine. Have dinner with me to-night, will you? And we'll take a run
out in the country somewhere. It's warm, even for March. I'll bring
along a fur coat for you. H'm?"

Mrs. McChesney stood thoughtfully regarding the hand that covered her
own. The blue of her eyes and the pink of her cheeks were a marvel to
behold.

"It's a shame," she began slowly, "that you're not twenty-five years
younger, so that your father could give you the licking you deserve
when he comes home. I shouldn't be surprised if he'd do it anyway. The
Lord preserve me from these quiet, deep devils with temperamental
hands and luminous eyes. Give me one of the bull-necked, red-faced,
hoarse-voiced, fresh kind every time. You know what they're going to
say, at least, and you're prepared for them. If I were to tell you how