They had just reached their own steps when a cab drew up before the house next door, and for some unaccountable reason, Daisy’s heart suddenly began to beat very fast indeed. “Look, Dulcie,” she whispered, grasping her sister’s arm; “there’s a gentleman getting out, and there’s a lady inside, with a baby in her lap.” “Well, what of it?” inquired Dulcie in surprise. “They’ve probably come to see somebody in the boarding-house. You don’t mean to think----” She paused in sudden excitement. “I don’t know,” said Daisy, who was beginning to tremble. “I couldn’t see the gentleman’s face, he went up the steps so fast, but--but it might be; it really might.” By this time they had reached the top of their own steps, and Dulcie had rung the door-bell. “I don’t see how we can possibly find out,” she said, as they stood waiting for Mary to let them in. “Oh, see, he’s coming down again; he must have made a mistake in the house.” Daisy leaned forward eagerly, in the hope of getting a glimpse of the stranger’s face, and at that moment Mary opened the door. “Well, ain’t you coming in?” she inquired, rather impatiently, for both children appeared completely absorbed in the actions of a strange young man, who was speaking to a lady in a cab. The street was very quiet, and the little girls could hear every word he said. “It’s that house,” the young man was saying, and as he spoke, he glanced directly up at the Winslows’ front door. “Will you get out, or shall I make some inquiries first?” “We may as well all get out,” the lady answered, and the next moment the baby had been transferred from its mother to its father, and a very pretty bright-faced young woman had stepped out of the cab. “Well, what’s the matter?” demanded Mary, still more impatiently. “If you don’t want to come in, what did you bring me all the way down-stairs to answer the bell for?” “They’re coming up here,” gasped Daisy, “and it is--oh, Dulcie, I’m sure it is.” “Is the name of one of these little girls Daisy Winslow?” inquired the young man, as he came up the steps, and though his voice was kind, and his face very pleasant, Daisy shrank behind her sister, in a fit of uncontrollable shyness and embarrassment. So it was Dulcie who answered the question. “Yes, sir,” she faltered, “that is, at least--I am Dulcie Winslow. Do you want to speak to my sister Daisy?” “I do very much indeed. May we come in? My name is Oliver, and I think you know my sister, who lives next door.”