Dorothy wore a tailor-made suit of her sister’s. It was of dark-blue cloth and somewhat worn, an old one having been chosen on purpose. A small blue straw hat, with a few roses, was very becoming, and the effect of it, with its carefully adjusted veil, was to make her look fully nineteen or twenty years old. Jeanette, in a plain little black suit and white shirt-waist, looked a very demure young lady. Her trim black hat showed no touch of color, and her sad little face assumed a pathetic expression that made Jack laugh. “You’ll do, Jeanette!” he exclaimed; “you’re just a picture of ‘a young lady in reduced circumstances.’” But Betty was the most disguised of all. This was necessary, for Mr. Irving scarcely knew the other two girls, anyhow, and the success of the scheme all depended on his not recognizing Betty. She wore a plain, dark dress borrowed from Dorothy’s sister. Over this was a long coat, rather loose and full, of tan-colored cloth. Her hair was drawn tightly back and done in a knot, and she wore large, dark spectacles. Already there was no resemblance left to Betty, but Mrs. McGuire added a thick, dark-brown veil, which was draped loosely over her face in old-fashioned style, and tied bunchily around her neck. “He’ll never know you in the world, Betty!” declared Jack. “You’re just all right! Now let’s hear your voice.” “Is this Mr. Irving?” said Betty, in such hoarse, raucous tones that they all shrieked with laughter. “That’ll do,” said Jack, critically; “but don’t overdo it. Remember, you don’t want Grandfather to suspect you. Now come on.” Jack and the three girls got into the carriage and were driven to Mr. Irving’s office in the city. It was half-past two when they reached the building. “Just right time to a dot,” said Jack, looking at his watch. “Go on up, Dorothy; are you nervous?” “Not a bit,” returned Dorothy, smiling, as she left the carriage. “Be sure to send the others in time.” “Trust me!” said Jack, and Dorothy entered the big building and went up in the elevator. She went to Mr. Irving’s offices, and was admitted by a clerk, who said Mr. Irving was in his private office, and asked the visitor’s name. “No name is necessary,” said Dorothy, in very grown-up tones. “I am expected.” She walked past the clerk and into the inner office. Mr. Irving looked at her in perplexity as she entered. “Miss Frances Arundel,” said Dorothy, looking a little shy, as she approached the desk. “Didn’t you get my note?” “Oh—’m—yes,” said Mr. Irving, hastily turning over some notes and letters before him. “I am a bit early,” went on Dorothy; “I wrote I would be here at three o’clock, but I was so anxious to secure a position, I came earlier. Can you employ me, sir?”