I saw the colour rush to Edith's face. "No!" she exclaimed. "Really?" Then arming herself against a dreaded blow she gasped, "Which is it?" "A girl," I hated to announce; "born Thursday." "A girl! Did you say a girl?" Edith's voice broke into a nervous laugh. "Lucy Vars, has Oliver's wife a little girl? Is she dreadfully disappointed? How is she? When was it? How much does it weigh? A girl! Well, well, is it _possible_?" Her eyes were fairly glowing now. I followed her into the elevator. "You mean it? You aren't fooling? This isn't a joke?" she exclaimed as we dropped a floor. "No," I assured her. "Poor thing! Poor thing!" she ejaculated with sparkling eyes. "A girl. A girl!" She found my hand and gave it an eager little squeeze. "Won't Oliver be just too cute with a daughter?" she bubbled. By the time we reached the ground floor, she had slipped her arm through mine. "You've got to come and have lunch with me, Bobbie Vars," she said. "Let's let bygones be bygones. I hate fights. I'm tired to death putting myself out to be disagreeable. Heavens! I can hardly wait to tell Alec. A little girl!" She led me out into the street. "I'm starved," she ran on. "We'll blow ourselves to the best luncheon in this town. I want to know _all_ the details--every one. Do you know I felt in my bones she would have a daughter, and I simply never make a mistake; and by the way, way down in my boots, _I_ wanted a girl myself. I _said_ I preferred a boy, but that was talk. You can dress girls up in such darling clothes. That's what I'm telling people anyhow," she confided frankly. "Remember, should any one ask." In spite of the many things about Edith I do not like, she has some splendid qualities. "Look here," she ejaculated abruptly, "I believe I'll send that poor little creature of Oliver's some flowers. I don't suppose she has many. Come on in here, Bobbie, and help me pick out something stunning!" Next Wednesday Ruth 'phoned from town. Friday she came out for dinner, and not very long afterward, the expressman left a lovely embroidered baby's coat and cap "for the dear little daughter," it said on Edith's visiting-card in her bold unmistakable handwriting. It was Oliver himself, who had been at home about two days, who opened the package. He and I were alone in the living-room. He flushed when his eyes fell upon the card. "So Edith--" he began. "Yes," I assured him; "and the roses on Madge's bureau are from Edith too." He flung the card down on the table and came over and stood before me.