finished hurting her, gripped hold of his feelings, somehow.
When he joined her again he said, "I felt like a brute, hurting you like that."
"Oh, never mind," Edna replied flippantly. "It hurts to cure most anything, I suppose—bones, as well as foolish ambitions, and my ankle isn't the only thing you've helped to cure."
Humorous and sharp retorts to solicitous doctors, she had long ago discovered, proved her safest defense against tears. And now to Bord Mathewson she went on tartly, "I saw you wink at my expense that first night, and though it hurt a little at the time it has accomplished its purpose. For years I've nursed ambition to make of myself some day an all-round good sport. Silly, I know. I'm cured completely of it now—thank you kindly." And then, as Mr. Mathewson made no reply, simply stood and stared at her, she exploded, "Won't you please remove those absurd articles from the back of that chair, and stuff them out of sight somewhere?"
"I'm sorry," he murmured.
"I don't know what for," snapped Edna.
He had ridiculed this girl! She had seen him! "I'm sorry," he murmured again, and went out of the room.
He stuffed the stockings into a wood-box be-
