The Girl in His House. Harold MacGrath

enough to show that a woman instead of a bachelor lives there now. She's very much in love with everything. She had very little to bring into it. Do you know, Jim, you've changed?" concluded Betty, appraisingly.

      "Older?" quizzically.

      "No. There are lines in your face I never saw before. You are positively handsome."

      "Piffle! Fat's been burnt out, that's all."

      "No, that isn't it. You look—well, I can't just explain it."

      ​"I can," said her husband, owlishly. "Jim's been living on hard ground instead of sofa pillows. And now, old scout, suppose we take up the original subject, Durston's grille."

      "First, I'm going to bind you two to absolute secrecy. I'm not joking, folks; something mighty serious has happened to me, and I'm in dead earnest. Promise?"

      "We promise," said Burlingham, mystified.

      "The pipes of Fortune!" Armitage rumpled his hair. "Did you ever hear them? When she blows, we dance. And goodness knows, I've just begun the queerest dance a man ever shook a leg to. I've been actually dumped into the middle of one of those Arabian Nights things. I did not sell the old home, furnished or unfurnished, to anybody in this world!"