Roger, and be a friend of mine still. Come back please, and let me say I think she's pretty, too.')
'What friend?'
'I've a good mind to tell you,' said Cicely. And then stopped short.
What madness had got hold of her that made her want to talk about Roger to anybody—to anybody at all, if there existed the least shadow of an excuse? To a child, to a mere slip of a girl. Even, it seemed, if the mere slip of a girl chanced to be the cause of a quarrel with Roger. Even, moreover, if it required being very kind and generous to the mere slip of a girl, sharing with her praise and admiration that she had wanted all for herself. Oh, the irony of fate! That she, Cicely Morgan, who had always had more praise and admiration than she had wanted from men, should, from the only man who had ever touched her heart, want more than was offered!
'Do tell me, Cicely,' Sheilah was still urging.
'All right,' she acquiesced. 'His name,' she announced casually enough, 'is Roger Dallinger.'
'Roger Dallinger? I never heard of him. Is he somebody I should have heard of? Is he somebody wonderful?'
Cicely hesitated a moment and looked away.
'Wonderful,' she said at last, and her eyes
'Why, Cicely, is it somebody you' Sheilah stopped abruptly, confused. 'Oh, Cicely, we've all
