taken me for the sister of a professional gambler, I'm afraid!"
Russell's look of kindness was the truth about him, she was to discover; and he reassured her now by the promptness of his friendly chuckle. "Then your young brother told you where I found him, did he? I kept my face straight at the time, but I laughed afterward—to myself. It struck me as original, to say the least: his amusing himself with those darkies."
"Walter is original," Alice said; and, having adopted this new view of her brother's eccentricities, she impulsively went on to make d more plausible. "He's a very odd boy, and I was afraid you'd misunderstand. He tells wonderful 'darky stories,' and he'll do anything to draw coloured people out and make them talk; and that's what he was doing at Mildred's when you found him for me—he says he wins their confidence by playing dice with them. In the family we think he'll probably write about them some day. He's rather literary."
"Are you?" Russell asked, smiling.
"I? Oh———" She paused, lifting both hands in a charming gesture of helplessness. "Oh, I'm just—me!"
His glance followed the lightly waved hands with
