She burst in upon the Poetry Girl (now warm and snug in some of Dulcie's own garments) and Felicia sitting by the nursery fire. They were having a friendly little party. Felicia introduced the two girls with the affable hope they'd be nice neighbors. "Blythe's coming to have the front room next as soon as Cross Eyes can pink-wash it--" Her eyes glimpsed the box, she fairly ran for it, "That's Maman's," she exclaimed, "How did you find it?" She hugged it delightedly; she opened it--"Even its emptiness smells nice," she sighed. "Oughtn't there to be a secrud pocket in it, m'loidy? With the missing will and the dagger he stabbed her with?" "Nothing like that," laughed Miss Day with one of her delicious excursions into slang, "it was just for Maman's writing things--but I'm _that_ proud to have it--" She was still holding the box when Janet brought up their dinner. After the Poetry Girl had left, she settled herself for her scolding. She knew that she was due for it. For naturally she had to confess that she'd asked Miss Modder to come live in the house. "What's she paying?" demanded Janet. "A good bargain, I made. It's like this--she writes, you know, so she doesn't get her money everyday as you and I do, Janet. She's more like--well, Dulcie when she's sculpting. So I made a bargain with her that she'd not pay her rent just now, that she'll pay later. She's to pay some girl's rent for as long as she stays herself rent free, do you see? As soon as she can she'll pay her own rent and she'll pay another rent too, that's vairee business like, don't you think, Dulcie?" Dulcie solemnly assured Janet she "couldn't beat it." She offered to enter into a similar agreement. Janet couldn't get any sense out of either of them. She retired baffled and defeated. "All the same," confessed Dulcie, "You've got to quit bringing home losers, Miss Day. You ought to pick one winner just to square yourself with Janet." Felicia promised. And, mirabile dictu, kept her word the very next week. Of all the persons that her mistress brought home Janet really approved of only that one. But that one, as she grudgingly admitted, made up for the whole "shiftless crew." "She's Christian," she assured Felice solemnly, "A Christian." Which was the more delightful from the fact that her sect was one that Janet had hitherto scorned as "Irish Roman Catolic." But just to look at Molly O'Reilly was to know you'd love her. Fat, oh, ridiculously fat, in comparison with the rest of that skinny household--ruddy, glowingly ruddy, beside that pale-faced "crew." Just by the law of contrasts they adored her when they saw her--especially after they'd tasted her heavenly food.