To this fine, though eccentric person G. Rodney Moore repaired upon his return from the Beacon Head. In the course of his walk, meditating upon Cicely Adair, he had warmed into a great admiration for her wit, her charm, her kindliness, her unmistakable purity of thought and deed below her boyish daring, which might easily be misunderstood. Therefore the enthusiasm he felt for Cis escaped into his eyes and voice as he laid before Miss Gallatin the need that “a friend of his” had of a good home, a comfortable room, nice surroundings, “not the ordinary boarding house,” he added, feeling himself diplomatically clever. “This Miss Adair,” he went on to say, “is precisely the kind of girl whom Miss Gallatin would like about; he felt proud to be the one to offer such a perfect fit, from both points of view, for Miss Gallatin’s cozy room, now vacant.” “Oh!” said Miss Gallatin, regarding Rodney attentively. She did not wholly like this one of her boarders, though she knew no justification of her distrust. He had come to her, a stranger in the city; had been regular in his goings and comings; orderly in the house; agreeable to his fellow-guests; he never went to church, but Miss Gallatin knew that in the present generation of Protestants this proved nothing worse than that they had let go of the illogical anchorage of their fathers; she did not know that G. Rodney’s last name had been drawn from that green sod wherein church-going was a totally different matter. If she had known that this Moore had been an Irish name in the time of its present possessor’s great-grandfather, she would have exclaimed: “There!” triumphantly, but she had no suspicion that Rodney Moore had been brought up to go to Mass. “He did not show it,” as she might have said. “Oh!” Miss Gallatin now exclaimed, adding at once: “Ah! Friend of yours, you say? Schoolmate? How long’ve you known her? Live in Beaconhite?” “She is going to live here,” said Rodney, flushing, annoyed, trying to hide it in order not to frustrate his own ends. “She has just come here, five days ago. She is to be Wilmer Lucas’ secretary; his brother sent her to him, and she’s not the sort of girl to chum in with all sorts. She’s an awfully nice girl, Miss Gallatin; just your kind!” “Like me?” hinted Miss Gallatin. “Character or looks? About my complexion and figure, I’ll bet a dollar! Can’t be quite my age. How long did you say you’d known her?”