There was no lipstick and no blush, he was sure, on that face. He hadn't thought about it before, but suddenly he knew he had an aversion to lipstick. There was a soft flush on this girl's cheek that he felt sure was real. He found himself glancing again and again in her direction. And when the young giant pitcher was doing his part she had on her face a breathless interest that made the soft color deepen. Yes, that was real!

Suddenly he realized that he had been staring at her, and she must have felt it, for she turned and let her glance go sweeping up over the seat behind her until it found his gaze, and her eyes went wide, and full of something almost like recognition. For an instant he thought she was going to nod to him as if she knew him. She didn't of course, but he wished she had. His glance lingered, and suddenly there was a withdrawing in hers, a kind of quick blankness and a hurrying on of her gaze, but the color had stolen up over her cheeks as she turned away. She had probably thought he was someone else and then discovered her mistake and was embarrassed by it. He felt a definite disappointment. He almost wished that he had been able in time to make his own glance a little more encouraging. He had never practiced the art of picking up strange girls, but here was a girl he felt he would distinctly like to know. Strangely familiar, too, yet he could not place her.

His thought traveled back to Anne Casper, the girl he had been trying to persuade himself he was interested in. She had been definitely the cause of irritation to him for the last week or two, because she insisted on taking a part in the fashion show that was being put on in a smart resort that month for the benefit of some charitable purpose; modeling, by her own choice, some exceedingly modern bathing suits. He thought of it now with a frown as he continued to study furtively the girl down at the end. Was he all wrong? Was it true as Anne Casper had tried to convince him that everybody, "simply everybody" wore such scanty garments on the beach all day and nobody thought anything of it? Why was he so sure that this girl wouldn't appear in one of those obnoxious affairs? Was it just because she reminded him of his lady-mother, and he knew she would not have approved such apparel?

More and more as the game went on he became interested in watching the girl's reaction to the game, and her eagerness in her brother's good work. More and more he wished he had some way of meeting her. But she did not so much as glance around again.

Well, he would be gone back to New York in a short time now, and he would likely never know who she was. And that was too bad, for he would certainly like to test out his intuitions about her and see whether she was different from the girls he knew, or whether after all she was just a girl like any of them and would prove to be just as disappointing as they all were, if he once had a chance to get to know her.

He found himself taking a deep interest in the young pitcher. Good work he was doing, and the team was playing up to him well. When that chap got to college he would likely make a name for himself in the athletic world.

The sun was getting lower, and the lights on the girl's hair were beginning to take on a reddish tinge instead of the gold. The game had been a clean, close one and would soon be over now. It was almost time for the agent's train to come in, but Keith Morrell had forgotten about that train. He was trying to plan a way to get nearer to that girl, to see how she really looked face-to-face, to invent some excuse for speaking to her. Perhaps if he was nimble and got down to her vicinity before the game was quite finished, she might drop one of her parcels, or the wallet she was holding, and he might be fortunate enough to pick it up and restore it to her. It might give him a legitimate cause for looking into her eyes, even for speaking perhaps.

So much did this thought obsess him that when two men beside him rose and stepped over his feet to get down, he followed them stealthily, unobtrusively to the ground, making his way by a devious path over behind the grandstand, and mingled with a group at her end of the stand who were eagerly watching the finish of the game. He did not turn to look at her, but from the side of his eye a furtive glance could see her now and then.

When the game was over she did not drop one of her packages as he had hoped, but she lingered for a moment standing by her seat till the big pitcher came over with his sweater tied around his broad shoulders and claimed his wallet and watch. He grinned at her, said a hurried word, and departed with his friends. She watched him go with a smile and came slowly away, still smiling, speaking to this one and that but not mingling with the crowd.

The little girl came eagerly with a crowd of companions and explained something then flew off with the girls, and the youngster from the grass came and restored a grimy handkerchief and was off with another boy.