That little girl is smart, all right; she'll never waste an evening screaming for the moon.

And Kelly Neville is--is Kelly Neville--a dear fellow, so utterly absorbed in the career of a brilliant and intelligent young artist named Louis Neville, that if the entire earth blew up he'd begin a new canvas the week after....

Not that I think him cold-hearted--no, not even selfish as that little bounder Allaire says--but he's a man who has never yet had time to spare." "They're the most hopeless," observed Annan--"the men who haven't time to spare.

Because it takes only a moment to say, 'Hello, old man! How in hell are you ?' It takes only a moment to put yourself, mentally, in some less lucky man's shoes; and be friendly and sorry and interested." "He's a pretty decent sort," murmured Ogilvy.

"Anyway, that Valerie child is safe enough in temporarily adoring Kelly Neville." * * * * * The "Valerie child," in a loose, rose-silk peignoir, cross-legged on her bed, was sewing industriously on her week's mending.