DEAR MISS LUCAS:--I’ll be at your house between three and four, as you ask. Yours sincerely, CICELY ADAIR. She addressed an envelope, folded her tiny note, sealed it in the envelope, and handed it to the boy, who rose to go. “You’re one!” he said admiringly. “That’s the kind o’ letter! Don’t have to hurt your eyes over it! Mostly they writes tons. Had the deuce of a time findin’ you!” “Don’t blame you one bit!” said Cis cordially. “I have an awful time finding myself! But I think it pays in the end.” “Yeh,” the boy grinned, instantly, like all boys, in perfect sympathy and understanding with Cis. “So long. Much obliged, but it’s paid, both ways.” “Of course it is, but an ice cream cone does no harm, and that’s outside your day’s wages,” retorted Cis, letting him out. Then she turned to Nan. “What do you suppose she wants of me? Is it to bless, or to curse me? I’ve got to go, couldn’t refuse and wouldn’t want to, but at the same time if you want to play my part I’ll lend you my clothes, Nan,” she said. Nan laughed; she would have tripped on Cis’s skirt, short though skirts were, and fallen through her jacket. “Your clothes are not a good fit for me, Cis, and I’d be less of a fit in your place at Miss Lucas’. I’ll never be able to wait to hear what happens there!” said Nan. “Pity you’re on duty all this afternoon and evening! But I’m going to Mass to-morrow, sure. If you go to the eight I’ll meet you and tell you all I know,” Cis suggested. “All right; that’s fine!” Nan’s face brightened. “It’s time I went home to lunch, if I’m to be at the office by one. Remember, you’re to spend to-morrow night with me. Oh, Cis! Your last night!” “Oh, I don’t know! I look forward to many more nights, Nanny, and some of them with you!” laughed Cis, persistently cheerful. Cis dressed for her call on Miss Jeanette Lucas with more trepidation than she would have been willing to acknowledge. She looked exceedingly well in setting forth, all in white; plain-tailored linen skirt; fine hand-wrought shirt-waist; a simple white hat of soft straw, with a soft white bow on one side its sole trimming; her masses of glowing, shining red hair emphasized by its snowy setting. Cis noted her effects in the mirror with approval. “Not so bad, Cicely, my dear,” she said aloud. “Neat, but not gaudy--except your hair! You’re not in the least a beauty, but you look kept-together, and I’m not ashamed to walk out with you, Miss Adair!” She nodded at her reflection in the glass, sighed as she took up gloves, which she detested, and ran downstairs, dreading her coming call, yet afraid of being unpunctual.