Sidney discover his threadbare inner condition. "New underwear for yours
tomorrow, K. Le Moyne," he said to himself, as he unknotted his cravat.
"New underwear, and something besides K. for a first name."

He pondered over that for a time, taking off his shoes slowly and thinking
hard. "Kenneth, King, Kerr--" None of them appealed to him. And, after
all, what did it matter? The old heaviness came over him.

He dropped a shoe, and Reginald, who had gained enough courage to emerge
and sit upright on the fender, fell over backward.

Sidney did not sleep much that night. She lay awake, gazing into the
scented darkness, her arms under her head. Love had come into her life at
last. A man--only Joe, of course, but it was not the boy himself, but what
he stood for, that thrilled her had asked her to be his wife.

In her little back room, with the sweetness of the tree blossoms stealing
through the open window, Sidney faced the great mystery of life and love,
and flung out warm young arms. Joe would be thinking of her now, as she
thought of him. Or would he have gone to sleep, secure in her half
promise? Did he really love her?

The desire to be loved! There was coming to Sidney a time when love would
mean, not receiving, but giving--the divine fire instead of the pale flame
of youth. At last she slept.

A night breeze came through the windows and spread coolness through the
little house. The ailanthus tree waved in the moonlight and sent sprawling
shadows over the wall of K. Le Moyne's bedroom. In the yard the leaves of
the morning-glory vines quivered as if under the touch of a friendly hand.