"There," said Henrietta, mysteriously, "you're safe at last. Now listen. You must slip out through the alley, walk slowly round the block, approach the house with dignity, ring the doorbell and present your cards to Simmons." "We--we can't," faltered Bettie. "He has them _now_." "I'll poke them out through the letter slot," laughed resourceful Henrietta. "You're not going to escape that formal call. Wait, your hat's over one ear, Mabel. There now, you're perfectly lovely. Now don't forget to pick up the cards." Entirely bewildered by Henrietta's pranks, the conventional visitors walked out through the alley, strolled round the block and nervously ascended the front steps. There, sure enough, were eight white cards popping out through the letter slot. "My goodness!" gasped Jean, "they're not _our_ cards. This one says 'Mrs. Francis Patterson.'" "And this," said Marjory, picking up another, "says 'John D. Thomas, sole agent for Todd's shoes.'" "According to mine," giggled Bettie, "I'm Miss Ethel Louise Cartwright. What's on yours, Mabel?" "'With love from Father,'" groaned Mabel. "What in the world shall we do?" queried Jean, gathering up the remaining cards. "Not one of them will fit _us_." "Give them to Simmons in a bunch," suggested Marjory. "He didn't look at the last lot, so perhaps he won't now." So the girls, gathering what courage they could, touched the bell, presented their odd assortment of cards to Simmons--who almost succeeded in not looking astonished at seeing the callers again so soon--and were ushered into the reception room. Such a sedate Henrietta advanced to meet them! Such a dignified, but charming old lady rose to shake hands all around! Such a sheepish quartette of visitors perched on the extreme edge of the nearest four chairs! Mrs. Slater smiled encouragingly; but Henrietta, from her post behind her grandmother's chair, displayed every sign of abject terror. "We--we came to call," faltered Jean. "That was pleasant," responded Mrs. Slater. "You are just in time to have some tea. Midge, will you please ring for Greta? I'm very glad you came, for I wanted my granddaughter to meet some of the young people." Mrs. Slater, her slender, beringed fingers moving daintily among the cups, made the tea. Henrietta, in absolute silence and much subdued in manner, passed the cups, the delicate sandwiches and the little frosted tea cakes. "Midge," demanded Mrs. Slater, turning suddenly to her granddaughter, "what in the world is the matter with you? You haven't said a word for fifteen minutes. I never knew you to be still for so long a time." "It's my conscience," groaned Henrietta, dolefully. "I'm in another scrape." "What have you done now?" asked Mrs. Slater, who seemed very much less terrifying than the girls had expected to find her. "Confession is good for the soul, my dear." Henrietta's infectious laugh gurgled out suddenly and merrily.