all in return, whose pulses had never quickened at the thought or sight of any one of them, much less her heart contracted as hers did now in thinking of this. Cis was not stupid; she knew what it meant. With a great wave of terror, of resistance, of joy, of triumph, of profound humility, she laid her head down on her bare white arms, folded on the window sill, and her splendid red hair fell over her as the outward symbol of the royal garment which she had donned, the vestment of her womanhood. For Cicely knew that she had come into the kingdom of her own self, her life’s crisis. Never again should she be the old careless, free, light-hearted Cis. A loss, perhaps, but at what a gain! She lifted her face, wet as the light of the street electricity fell upon it, and pushed back her masses of red-gold hair from her hot cheeks. “Miss Mass for him! Yes, oh, yes! I’d lose my soul for him, if it would make him happy!” she cried aloud, rising to her full height and stretching her arms upward with a royal gesture, as though she at once renounced and received. Cis arose early the next morning to carry out her intention to write to Nan. She wrote rapidly, at gossipy length, on a writing case resting on her knee, seated at the window where she had sat long on the night before. She told Nan all about events in the office; her struggles with the code; about women boarding at Mrs. Wallace’s, whose idiosyncrasies she touched off to the life, with merry ridicule which was keen, yet not unkind. Only at the end of the letter she turned serious. “Nannie, dear,” she wrote, “of course I say marry Joe, though I’m mean enough to be a little sorry to let you marry anyone. If you love him, that is all. You must love him, or you would not consider it at all. He is a lucky fellow, but he is all right himself. You have my blessing. It is everything to love someone with all your heart, but if he loves you, too--Oh, Nannie, you are in luck, my dear! Though I should think a great, tearing love would always be returned; simply melt the other one. I’d never hesitate over _anything_ if I loved a man--you silly little thing! I’ll see you some day, before you’re married, I hope. By the way, speaking of nuptial Masses, I’m going to cut church next Sunday; wanted to tell you I’m breaking my promise this once. I’ve got a fine pal here--I told you about him--he wants me to do something; go off too early Sunday morning to get in Mass, too, and he wants it so badly that it’s right to give him the happiness. I’d do more than that to make him happy. I don’t suppose it really is a damning sin to miss Mass, but I guess I’d go to hell, if it would make things easier for him. So now you can see how I feel about this pal o’ mine! There was one of him made, and then the mold was broken! I’m happy, but I’m not at all sure he’d go as far as purgatory for me. Your loving Cis.” Cis read her letter over with her cheeks aflame, her eyes wet, her breath short.