ner. The only excursion which brought him obvious displeasure was that when he brought back to Teddie a motor-truck loaded down with her studio possessions—which the lady in question solemnly committed to a bonfire on the rear end of the East Drive. And that afternoon as they sat taking tea and cinnamon-toast on the Terrace, he finally found the courage to confront the morose-eyed young lady who sat in the high-backed willow-chair so moodily tearing an Ophelia rose to pieces.
"Say, Teddie, isn't it about time you were loosening up?" the old Major quietly inquired.
"About what?" demanded Teddie, taking her third slice of cinnamon-toast.
"About that mix-up down in the Village."
"It wasn't a mix-up," corrected Teddie.
"Then what was it?"
"It was a revelation!"
"A revelation of what?" asked Uncle Chandler as he put his teacup down.
"Of what men are!" asserted the abstracted-eyed Teddie.
