about you and how they've been sticking up for you."
He saw, at length, that her eyes were gray, very level and cool, and when they rested on him he understood what Maury had meant by saying she was very young and very old. She talked always about herself as a very charming child might talk, and her comments on her tastes and distastes were unaffected and spontaneous.
"I must confess," said Anthony gravely, "that even I've heard one thing about you."
Alert at once, she sat up straight. Those eyes, with the grayness and eternity of a cliff of soft granite, caught his.
"Tell me. I'll believe it. I always believe anything any one tells me about myself—don't you?"
"Invariably!" agreed the two men in unison.
"Well, tell me."
"I'm not sure that I ought to," teased Anthony, smiling unwillingly. She was so obviously interested, in a state of almost laughable self-absorption.
"He means your nickname," said her cousin.
"What name?" inquired Anthony, politely puzzled.
Instantly she was shy—then she laughed, rolled back against the cushions, and turned her eyes up as she spoke:
"Coast-to-Coast Gloria." Her voice was full of laughter, laughter undefined as the varying shadows playing between fire and lamp upon her hair. "O Lord!"
Still Anthony was puzzled.
"What do you mean?"
"Me, I mean. That's what some silly boys coined for me."
"Don't you see, Anthony," explained Dick, "travel-
