“Not to-morrow; I’ve got to get settled living somewhere, permanently,” said Cis. “Sunday, then? Do you lie late Sunday? Any objections to a pleasant time on that day? I don’t suspect you of Puritanism! I myself get up about noon on Sunday, but I’m ready to forego my needed rest and trot you out in the forenoon. If not, we’ll lunch somewhere, and go for a jolly time afterward,” suggested Rodney. “Time enough to talk about Sunday,” returned Cis. “I usually get up fairly early; Sunday, too, but I don’t spend the day psalm reading. Run along; I’m busy. Let me know about Miss Gallagher by telephone, or otherwise.” “Otherwise; at eight-thirty sharp. By the way, it’s Gallatin, not Gallagher. Good-bye, Holly. You’re a peach, and I’m glad we had our shoes polished!” cried Rodney. Cis laughed, and ran up the stairs, scorning the elevator. At the landing she caught a glimpse of Rodney standing where she had left him, watching her. She started to turn back to wave him a supplementary farewell, but checked herself, and went on without betraying that she knew he was still there. She finished her journey up the second section of the stairway, wondering at herself. Never before in all her life had she refused herself the expression of a friendly impulse. Was it shyness? Could it be coquetry that had held her hand from that last salute? She had never been shy; she scorned coquetry. “Air of Beaconhite doesn’t agree with you, Cis, my dear old chap!” she warned herself. Miss Hannah Gallatin was a character, as Rodney had implied. She was tall and gaunt, almost stern in manner, curt of word, severe, but there was no kinder creature in the world than this lonely maiden woman who had no one of kith nor kin on whom to lavish love, who therefore, perhaps, had taught herself not to express it except by ceaseless deeds of kindness, done as if they were penal. She was a convert to the Catholic Church, one that would not have been predicted, but Father Morley, of St. Francis’ church, himself the son of a convert to the Old Faith, had many converts to his credit; among them Hannah Gallatin, who, if she did not grace it in one sense, certainly was an honor to it in all essential senses.