"You don't want to take no risks," said Mrs. Snawdor, importantly. "There's a fool society for everything under the sun, an' somebody'll be tryin' to git out a injunction. I don't mind swearin' to whatever age you got to be, but Mr. Burks is so sensitive about them things." "All right," said Nance, flinging on her hat and coat, "tell 'em how it was when I'm gone. I'll be sending you money before long." "That's right," whispered Mrs. Snawdor, hanging over the banister as Nance felt her way down the stairs. "You be good to yerself an' see if you can't git me a theayter ticket for to-morrow night. Git two, an' I'll take Mis' Gorman." Never had Nance tripped so lightly down those dark, narrow stairs--the stairs her feet had helped to wear away in her endless pilgrimages with buckets of coal and water and beer, with finished and unfinished garments, and omnipresent Snawdor babies. She was leaving it all forever, along with the smell of pickled herrings and cabbage and soapsuds. But she was not going to forget the family! Already she was planning munificent gifts from that fabulous sum that was henceforth to be her weekly portion. At Mr. Demry's closed door she paused; then hastily retracing her steps, she slipped back to her own room and got a potted geranium, bearing one dirty-faced blossom. This she placed on the floor outside his door and then, picking up her big box, she slipped quickly out of the house, through the alley and into the street. It was late when she got back to Birdie's room, and as she entered, she was startled by the sound of smothered sobbing. "Birdie!" she cried in sudden alarm, peering into the semi-darkness, "what's the matter? Are you fired?" Birdie started up hastily from the bed where she had been lying face downward, and dried her eyes. "No," she said crossly. "Nothing's the matter, only I got the blues." "The blues!" repeated Nance, incredulously. "What for?" "Oh, everything. I wish I was dead." "Birdie Smelts, what's happened to you?" demanded Nance in alarm, sitting by her on the bed and trying to put her arm around her. "Whoever said anything had happened?" asked the older girl, pushing her away. "Stop asking fool questions and get dressed. We'll be late as it is." For some time they went about their preparations in silence; then Nance, partly to relieve the tension, and partly because the matter was of vital interest, asked: "Do you reckon Mr. Mac and Mr. Monte will come again to-night?" "You can't tell," said Birdie. "What do they care about engagements? We are nothing but dirt to them--just dirt under their old patent-leather pumps!" This bitterness on Birdie's part was so different from her customary superiority where men were concerned, that Nance gasped.