Would you mind," her wonderful black eyes met his in a glance of frank inquiry, "would you mind--explaining?
There was so much excitement and storm last night that we haven't the slightest notion what happened." "Neither have I!" exclaimed Philip ruefully.
The girl's eyes widened.
"How very singular!" she said.
"It is indeed!" admitted Philip.
"You must be an exceedingly hapless young man!" she commented with serious disapproval.

"I imagine your life must be a monotonous round of disaster and excitement!" "Fortuitously," owned Philip, "it's improving!" Piqued by his irresistible good humor in adversity, Diane eyed him severely.
"Are you so in the habit of being mysteriously stabbed in the shoulder whenever it storms," she demanded with mild sarcasm, "that you can retain an altogether pernicious good humor ?" Philip's eyes glinted oddly.
"I'm a mere novice," he admitted lightly.

"If my shoulder didn't throb so infernally," he added thoughtfully, "I'd lose all faith in the escapade--it's so weird and mysterious.

A crackle--a lunge--a knife in the dark--and behold! I am here, exceedingly grateful and hungry despite the melodrama." To which Diane, raising beautifully arched and wondering eyebrows, did not reply.

Philip, furtively marking the firm brown throat above the scarlet sweater, and the vivid gypsy color beneath the laughing dusk of Diane's eyes, devoutly thanked his lucky star that Fate had seen fit to curb the air of delicate hostility with which she had left him on the Westfall lake.