“You’d like me to marry, wouldn’t you, dear?” her sister put in wearily.

“Yes, I should, while there is still time!  Just now you look far from it!  It’s exactly as Allan was saying!  If you keep on as you’re going you’ll be an old woman at thirty-five!”

“Thank you!” said Deborah sharply.  Two spots of color leaped in her checks.  “You’d better leave me, Edith!  I’ll come up to the mountains as soon as I can!  And I’ll try not to look any more like a hag than I have to!  Good-night!”

Roger followed Edith out of the room.

“That last shot of mine struck home,” she declared to him in triumph.

“I wouldn’t have done it,” her father said.  “I gave you that remark of Baird’s in strict confidence, Edith—­”

“Now father,” was her good-humored retort, “suppose you leave this matter to me.  I know just what I’m doing.”

“Well,” he reflected uneasily, after she had left him, “here’s more trouble in the family.  If Edith isn’t careful she’ll make a fine mess of this whole affair.”

After dinner he went up to Deborah’s room, but through the open doorway he caught a glimpse of his daughter which made him instinctively draw back.  Sitting bolt upright in her bed, sternly she was eyeing herself in a small mirror in her hand.  Her father chuckled noiselessly.  A moment later, when he went in, the glass had disappeared from view.  Soon afterwards Baird himself arrived, and as they heard him coming upstairs Roger saw his daughter frown, but she continued talking.

“Hello, Allan,” she said with indifference.  “I’m feeling much better this evening.”

“Are you?  Good,” he answered, and he started to pull up an easy chair.  “I was hoping I could stay awhile—­I’ve been having one of those long mean days—­”

“I’d a little rather you wouldn’t,” Deborah put in softly.  Allan turned to her in surprise.  “I didn’t sleep last night,” she murmured, “and I feel so drowsy.”  There was a little silence.  “And I really don’t think there’s any need of your dropping in to-morrow,” she added.  “I’m so much better—­honestly.”

Baird looked at her a moment.

“Right—­O,” he answered slowly.  “I’ll call up to-morrow night.”

Roger followed him downstairs.

“Come into my den and smoke a cigar!” he proposed in hearty ringing tones.  Allan thanked him and came in, but the puzzled expression was still on his face, and through the first moments of their talk he was very absent-minded.  Roger’s feeling of guilt increased, and he cursed himself for a meddlesome fool.

“Look here, Baird,” he blurted out, “there’s something I think you ought to know.”  Allan slightly turned his head, and Roger reddened a little.  “The worst thing about living in a house chock full of meddling women is that you get to be one yourself,” he growled.  “And the fact is—­” he cleared his throat—­“I’ve put my foot in it, Baird,” he said.  “I was fool enough the other day to quote you to Edith.”