They had tea together—on the Endeavor china. He was much more fun than the bishop. And in spite of the very-close-to-gray-hairs at his temples, he had a dear boyish way of settling back in a chair and getting himself comfortable and happy. And when you see another thoroughly comfortable and happy right at your side, you are bound to feel the same way yourself. And Doris did.
After she had watched his departure from the shelter of the front window, she came back into the room, and there on the card tray—how in the world it got there she could not imagine—but she knew instantly it was his card—and she pounced upon it eagerly.
"Mr. Daniel Amberton MacCammon."
After all, the name meant nothing. And there was so much she wished to know. His age, and who he was, and why he came there, and what in the world he was doing in the Haunted House, and—oh, a thousand things.
But Doris looked at the card in a friendly companionable way, and said, in her softest and chummiest voice:
"Honestly, I like you."
CHAPTER XI THE PHILOSOPHER
"Now, Doris," began Rosalie briskly, "you must help decide my life career. They gave us a fine talk at chapel this morning, urging us to spot our high ambitions for guiding stars to work toward. Of course, we can change our minds later on if we like, we are not to be irrevocably bound to what we say, but no student 'can plan most wisely and most surely for the future, without a pole star ever shining in his mind's eye,'" she quoted patly. "Now, what are my ambitions?"