“Speaking of lovers,” Connie would begin brightly,—­for like so many of the very charming girls who see no charm in matrimony, most of Connie’s conversation dealt with that very subject.  And it was what her auditors liked best of all to hear.  Why, sometimes Carol would interrupt right in the middle of some account of her success on the papers, to ask if a certain man was married, or young, or good looking.  After all, getting married was the thing.  And Connie was not sufficiently enthusiastic about that.  Writing stories was very well, and poems and books had their place no doubt, but Shakespeare himself never turned out a masterpiece to compare with Julia sitting plump and happy in the puddle of mud to the left of the kitchen door, her round pink face streaked and stained and grimy.

“I really did decide to get married once,” Connie began confidentially, when they were comfortably settled on the porch by David’s cot.  “It was when I was in Mount Mark one time.  Julia was so sweet I thought I could not possibly wait another minute.  I kept thinking over the men in my mind, and finally I decided to apply my business training to the problem.  Do you remember Dan Brooks?”

Carol nodded instantly.  She remembered all the family beaus from the very beginning.  “A doctor now, isn’t he?  Lives next door to the folks in Mount Mark.  I used to think you would marry him, Connie.  He is well off, and nice, too.  And a doctor is very dignified.”

Connie agreed warmly, and David laughed.  All the Starrs had been so sensible in discussing the proper qualifications for lovers, and all had impulsively married whenever the heart dictated.

“Yes, that’s Dan.  Did you ever notice that cluster of lilac bushes outside our dining-room window?  Maybe you used it in your own beau days.  It is a lovely place to sit, very effective, for Dan’s study overlooks it from the up-stairs, and their dining-room from down-stairs.  So whenever I want to lure Dan I sit under the lilacs.  He can’t miss me.

“One day I planted myself out there with a little red note-book and the telephone directory.  Dan and his mother were eating luncheon.  I was absorbed in my work, but just the same I had a wary eye on Dan.  He shoved back his chair, and got up.  Then he kissed his mother lightly and came out the side door, whistling.  I looked up, closed the directory, snapped the lock on my note-book, and took the pencil out of my mouth.  I said, ‘Hello, Danny.’  Then I shoved the books behind me.

“’Hello, Connie.—­No, I wouldn’t invite Fred Arnold if I were you.  It would just encourage him to try, try again, and it would mean an additional wound in the heart for him.  Leave him out.’

“I frowned at him.  ‘I am not doing a party,’ I said coldly.

“’No?  Then why the directory?  You are not reading it for amusement, are you?  You are not—­’

“’Never mind, Dan.  It is my directory, and if I wish to look up my friends—­’