"My sons," explained Mrs. Dunbar, "are having examinations up at New Haven, and my daughter Phylis"—with a deprecating look at the vacant place—"is always late."
"Phylis is not the youngest," said Dunbar, affectionately, "but she is the most spoiled."
A white apparition that sparkled sailed into the room.
A clear, low voice said something about not getting up. The gentlemen rose. And the heart of Beauling began to thump as if he had been smoking too much.
"Who was singing in the woods?" said the voice. "Was it you, papa, gifted suddenly from above, or was it the great god Pan?"
"It was I," said Beauling, timidly.
"I liked it so," said the apparition, and she turned full upon the dauntless Beauling,—who, skulking in the shadow which the fates had suddenly cast over him, was fixedly regarding his plate,—and hummed mockingly:
