“Know him?” he demanded. “Of course I can’t be sure, but it is exactly like Mr. Anselm Lancaster, and it is like no one else in all the world!” Cis said, her eyes bright, her face flushed, her breath a little quickened. “He is the one whom everybody looks at; when he comes into a room you feel him as much as you see him. He can make anything trust him, kittens, carrots, old women, anything! He speaks Italian as well as English, and he speaks English like an Oxford Englishman. He would do precisely what you describe, be a knight errant as soon for a poor old immigrant as for a princess! It sounds like no one but Mr. Anselm Lancaster!” CHAPTER XXIV THE BEACON Precisely because she wanted exceedingly to stay away from the girls and neglect the arrangement of their new rooms in the telephone building, Cis arose betimes the next morning and went out early. She could not rid herself of the conviction that the man whose chivalry had so impressed Tom the previous night was Anselm Lancaster, and she wanted to stay in the house, hoping that, if it were he, he would come to look her up. It had been long, and seemed longer to Cis, since she had heard from Miss Braithwaite. Mr. Lancaster had shown no remembrance of her existence for months; it was now close upon May day, and spring in the air increased Cis’s restless dissatisfaction, filling her with a homesickness which was farther reaching and deeper than homesickness for a definite place. She told herself that it was absurd to identify Tom’s hero on so slender a ground, and quite unpardonable to mope around the house expecting Mr. Lancaster to call on her. “You never were silly when it was the time to be silly; don’t begin it now, Cis Adair,” she sternly told herself. So she went down to look after her girls’ organization earlier than usual, in order to rebuke her own tendency to folly, but, like most of us, she compromised with her weakness.