“Oh, Nellie!” she greeted her sister, “Have you got back already? I thought perhaps he’d take you somewhere to dinner. They do, you know. I’ve read about it. But wasn’t he _lovely_ to take you to that game. All the boys at school were talking about it and one of the girls had a ticket to go with her brother. I think it was just _wonderful_. I’m so _glad_ you had that nice time! You are so _dear_! Now tell me about it.” And Cornelia told, all she could remember about the day and the ride and the wonderful game, told things she had not known she noticed by the wayside, told about Dotty and Tommy, and even gave a hint of a wonderful friend of Mr. Maxwell’s who wore a white, soft, silk dress lined with scarlet and carried a gold mesh bag, till Louise’s eyes grew large with wonder, though she looked a little grave when she heard about the lady. Cornelia hid her heavy heart under smiles and words and was gayer than usual, and very very tired when she crept at last to bed, where she might not even weep lest the little sister should know the secret of her foolish heart. Saturday morning dawned with all its burden and responsibility, a new day full of new cares, and the gladness of yesterday gone into graver tints. But Cornelia would not own to herself that she was unhappy. There was work to do and she would immerse herself in it and forget. There was no need being a fool always when once one had found out one was. And anyway she meant to live for her family—Her dear family! CHAPTER XXVI Cornelia had had a brief space of anxiety lest her brother should begin to feel his own importance and perhaps offend his chief in being entirely too smart in his own conceit. But it soon became apparent that the chief was a big enough man to have impressed Carey and made him a devoted servant. He kept quoting what he said with awe and reverence and showing great delight at being admitted to the inner sanctum and intrusted with important affairs. Carey was to begin his new work on Monday morning, and all Saturday as he went about doing various little things, pressing his trousers, picking up his laundry, getting his affairs in order to leave all day as other business men had to do every day, he kept dropping into the room where his sister was at work on some pretty dresses for Louise, and telling with a light in his eyes and a ring of pleasure in his voice what “the boss” had said or done, or how the office was furnished, and how many salesmen and stenographers there were. And he could not say enough about Maxwell.