colored cover over the mop of curls, and lay still. But she was not asleep. Her mind was on Hildegarde walking home with Crispin in the dawn, and the look that had been in Meriweather's eyes at the sight of her.
No man had ever looked at Sally like that. She had had admirers a-plenty, and many proposals. But that touch of worship! She had not known until this morning how much she wanted it! And so she had flung herself among her pillows.
When Mrs. Hulburt came in later, Sally was having her breakfast on a tray.
"Louis wants us to go abroad next summer," she told her daughter. "What do you think?"
Sally set down her cup of chocolate. "Who is going with him?"
"Hildegarde and Anne."
"And Merry?"
"Probably."
"Then I won't go."
"Sally! Why not?"
"Well, if you think I am going over to watch Merry make love to Hildegarde—"
"My dear child, if you could know how glad I am that he isn't making love to you."
"What makes you say that, mother?"
"You couldn't marry him, if he loved you. He hasn't a cent in the world."
"Do you think I care for that?"
"You ought to care. It is just as easy to love a rich man as a poor one."
"Not if the poor one is Merry."
"Sally, I wish you'd have some reticences. In my
