"Do you think," she asked, "that the Major would miss me, Doctor, if I went away a little while to find out about these things?" The doctor shook his head. "He wouldn't," he answered, "But, Miss Day, you couldn't go!" She smiled. "Couldn't I just!" she breathed. She was quite calm about the details. Her perfect poise awed both Margot and the doctor into thinking her quite capable. "Zeb could stay here with Margot, the doctor could take me to the station, Zeb says he didn't come on a boat, just a train. And you know, Margot, when I get to Brooklyn, I'll go right to Temple Bar. There was a man, as I told you, another lawyer. When I was young he told me to go to him if anything happened. Maman had him come. He will know what to do." Nothing they could say would dissuade her. The touch of imperiousness with which she silenced their objections made the blundering well- meaning doctor want to shake her. He waited impatiently while Margot made Felicia ready for the hasty journey. He saw nothing absurd about the slender figure that came down the stairway toward him wrapped in the very same traveling coat in which she had first journeyed to the House in the Woods. She was wearing one of Louisa's ugliest bonnets with the strings tied primly under her chin and she was fearfully pale. The Major was sitting by his fire, dozing gently. He did not notice her at all. He roused himself for the doctor's perfunctorily cheerful farewell. It was then that he noted Felicia's coat and bonnet. "What are you pretending?" he asked. "I'm pretending I'm going on a journey," she answered cheerfully. "Don't you think I look like going on a journey, Grandy?" "I think you look very charming, my dear," he murmured automatically, his thin hand on the top of his cane. He shivered slightly. "But I forbid you to go to Paris--bad business--it's a bad business, Louisa!" At the gateway, just as the doctor was clucking briskly to his horse, Felicia put out her hand and stopped him. Zeb and Margot and Bele stood respectfully beside the gatehouse, respectfully but very troubled. "It's silly," faltered Felicia, "but I think--I--can't go alone--Zeb, you bring me my new Babiche, I can carry her under my arm." Zeb handed the dog up proudly, patting her professionally. He scratched his head perplexedly as he stepped back from the wheel. "Hey, wait!" he addressed the doctor as he started a second time. He fumbled in an inner pocket of his rough coat. "I was forgetting, Miss Felicia, a matter of a letter for you I found in Marthy's things--she sent it off at you this long time ago but it came back at her--" He handed it up, thin, much creased and much bestamped and postmarked. Miss F. Day New York. Or return to M. Z. Smather 2 Montrose Lane, Brooklyn, N. Y.