Emmy Lou knew when Aunt Cordelia's tones were final. She had feared this. She stood--fingering the window-curtain--irresolute. In her heart she felt her literary qualifications were not being appreciated in Platonian circles anyway. A dancing club--it sounded alluring. The window was near the bureau with its mirror--she stole a look. She was--yes--she knew now she was pretty. Late that afternoon Miss MacLauren dropped a note in the post. It was a note tendering her resignation to the Platonian Society. THE END