"Fads?" observed Kathleen, inquiringly.
"Yes," replied her new friend; "he is full of them. Some time ago it was to be an author, and I believe he wrote up whole reams of foolscap in the six weeks while the fever lasted. He came here every day, bringing dozens of pages of the thrilling romance over which he had been wasting the midnight oil. Finally he sent it off to a publisher, and a prompt rejection cooled his ardor. Now his fad is to be an actor."
"An actor?" Kathleen exclaimed.
Her thoughts flew with exquisite pain to Ralph Chainey—so beloved and so false!
"He has been stage-struck ever since he saw Ralph Chainey act last winter," continued the communicative hostess. "He tells me now that he is studying to go upon the stage, but I'm sure he will fail. He will certainly have stage-fright."
"I hope not," answered Kathleen; and then the gentle lady tucked her kindly into bed as if she had been a little child.
"Good-night, my dear," she said, with a kiss, and then she went away, saying she must go down-stairs and see Teddy Darrell.
He was waiting for her alone. The children who had been amusing him, had gone off to bed, and he settled himself for a long, confidential chat.
From his talk she soon learned that his love of a year ago for bonny Kathleen had revived with fuller intensity than ever.
"Cousin Carrie, I'm bound to marry that girl!" he exclaimed, with sparkling eyes.