Shirley sat before a typewriting machine, her fingers playing as lightly and swiftly over the keys, for all Brant could see, as those of any veteran at the business. The girl did not look up. Plainly she was much absorbed in her work, a little flush on her cheek, her eyes devouring the "copy" before her in the shape of her note-book, held open by a device above her machine. Brant turned to look at Murray, and Murray smiled. "She looks as if she enjoyed it!" Brant exclaimed, under his breath. "She does. No question of that." "It ’ll wear off, don’t you think?" "I doubt it." He walked over and stood at her elbow, waiting. Shirley paid him no attention while she finished the long business letter before her, and she would not have turned then if her brother had not said quietly, "A caller is waiting to see you, Miss Townsend." Then she glanced up, and rose, pulling a glove finger from the forefinger of her right hand before she let the visitor take it. "I still seem to give this finger a bit of extra work," she said smiling. Brant said a complimentary thing or two in recognition of her businesslike command of the typewriter, and then proceeded to put his case. As she knew, a November house party was in progress at the Hildreth’s country place, eighteen miles out. He and Marian had come in on an errand, and were going back. A particularly jolly evening was in prospect. Somebody had suggested that the Hilles bring Shirley back with them, just for the evening. They felt she owed them that much, after so resolutely declining the original invitation for the entire week. Would she not go? It was a rare evening for early November, the air mild, the moon magnificent, the roads like a floor. The Hildreths wanted her to stay the night; but Brant would rise with the lark and bring her back to town before breakfast, that she might not miss so much as a semicolon of her day’s work. Or--as Shirley continued to look doubtful--he urged that, if she preferred, he would actually get her back to-night. Some of the married people would drive in with them for the sake of the run in the moonlight. Please! "Go, Shirley, and have a fine time," said her brother. She was only human--and a girl--after all, and after many weeks of close and serious work the prospect of the little spin of an hour’s duration, with the "jolly evening," appealed to her. Smiling at Brant’s last proposition, Shirley yielded. "I shall have to go to the house first," she said, setting the cover on her machine and putting away her work. The clock already indicated the end of the working-day in the Townsend office. "Of course. We ’ll take you right up in a jiffy." And Brant led the way to the elevator, his soul filled with satisfaction. The green car was shortly _chug-chugging_ in front of the Townsend house, while Shirley ran up to exchange her office clothes for the pretty dull red silk frock which seemed to her to fit the November evening.