"No one. I did it all myself." Then, as a quick side-glance caught the unbelief on her lodger's face, she added: "No, I don't know, on second thought, but what I did get a hint about the color you would be likely to favor. I recall now that Mr. Thrall remarked, seeing that paper hanging in the dealer's window: 'What a fine background for some dark-haired woman.' So I just caught the idea, as you may say." "You are a very clever woman, I see," answered Sybil, who went joyously about her unpacking, looking every ten minutes from the window for Dorothy, who was coming with home photographs, Lena's personally constructed pillow-sham with a large blue cotton "S. L." worked in the middle, a beautiful old paper-knife from papa, a silver powder-box from Leslie, and two pretty but broken fans from mamma, who thought they would decorate a room nicely, giving quite a little studio-like touch--all to be used in "homing the rooms," as Dorothy put it. Godmamma Van Camp sent three really precious old engravings that Dorothy, with hat still on, went about rapturously holding up against the clear yellow wall, smacking her young lips as though she were tasting something. The most exciting moment of the girls' day was when going into the second room Dorothy pointed to a corner cabinet and said: "What's that, Syb?" "What's what?" asked that person from near the bottom of the trunk Jane was waiting to remove to the attic. "That in the corner?" Sybil rose, red and hot, and looked while Jane pulled the trunk out. Then she exclaimed: "Why, that was not there when I came to look at the rooms first!" She went over to it. A small visiting-card was attached to the key--the card of Stewart Thrall. She opened the cabinet door and revealed a coffee outfit. Two cries of delight arose; alcohol was sent for--the picnic was on! In Africa when a creature is too mighty for the hunters, the wily natives contrive a great trap--they dig a deep pit, and then cover it over with frail green boughs and grasses, until it looks like the rest of the green matted ground about it. They are careful, too, to place this trap in the neighborhood of some rushing river or some stilly pool where in the moonlight or at earliest flush of dawn the great creature must go to lap the cooling water. Then, when it has crashed through into helpless captivity, the small cunning enemy may work their will upon it. Now, the strange thing is--this cruel and treacherous practice is not confined to Africa. Sometimes pits are dug before young feet and carefully hidden beneath boughs of friendship and flowers of love. Right here in our great city, if we listen closely, we may hear the crashing fall of the victim! CHAPTER XXIII THE WOMAN IN THE BOX