and forthright of disposition. Eileen was a tiny woman,
delicately moulded, exquisitely colored, and one of the most
perfectly successful tendrils from the original clinging vine in
her intercourse with men, and with such women as would tolerate
the clinging-vine idea in the present forthright days. With a
strand of softly curled hair in one hand and a fancy pin in the
other, Eileen turned a disapproving look upon her sister.

"What's the great idea?" demanded Linda shortly.

"Oh, it's perfectly splendid," answered Eileen. "John Gilman's
best friend is motoring around here looking for a location to
build a home. He is an author and young and good looking and not
married, and he thinks he would like to settle somewhere near Los
Angeles. Of course John would love to have him in Lilac Valley
because he hopes to build a home here some day for himself. His
name is Peter Morrison and John says that his articles and
stories have horse sense, logic, and humor, and he is making a
lot of money."

"Then God help John Gilman, if he thinks now that he is in love
with you," said Linda dryly.

Eileen arched her eyebrows, thinned to a hair line, and her lips
drew together in disapproval.

"What I can't understand," she said, "is how you can be so
unspeakably vulgar, Linda."

Linda laughed sharply.