pom
48
FLAMING
YOUTH
ti os<anh
of her emotions, if that’s what you mean, Mona. I shouldn’t have let her. There’s a touch of the morbid in © her, anyway. That’s the Irish strain from her father. But there’s a lot of your saving grace, teo—your most saving grace.” “And what may that be?” “The habit of facing facts squarely; even facts about oneself.” “Ts that a gift or a detriment, Bob?” “It’s a saving grace, I tell you. Little Pat is going © to look right clean through the petty illusions of life, clear-eyed.” “But illusions are the bloom and happiness of life,” said Mona wistfully. “To play with;
not to trust in.
Oh, she'll have her
illusions about others; she’s begun already. She’s a romantic, as you are not. But her dreams about herself will all be subject to her own detached scrutiny. If ever she comes to dream about a man——”
“Well?
You’re being
very
subtle
and
analytical,
Doctor.” ““_-she’ll make heaven or hell for him.” “Bob! Men aren’t going to waste time over her with pretty Dee and lovely Connie around.” “Aren’t they! Ask young Graves. She'll make *em dream. Wait and see.” “Just what I can’t do,” said Mona quietly. “Ah, I didn’t mean to say that, Bob,” she added quickly, catch-
ing the contraction of pain that altered his face. “Well,” she mused, brushing her hair back from her broad brow, “T can’t quite see it in Pat myself. But perhaps you're
right.
You ought to know.
You’re a man.”
