On taking possession of what she termed her _maisonnette_, Mrs. Parsons decided that she had need of a social secretary. Kitty Baird had been highly recommended for the post by Charles Craige, and, after much urging on the part of both Mrs. Parsons and her godfather, Kitty had resigned her clerkship in the Department of State, which she had held during the World War, and taken up her secretarial duties. And Kitty had been of genuine aid to her employer, as Mrs. Parsons acknowledged to herself if to no one else--she was chary of spoken praise. Kitty had not only an accurate knowledge of social life in Washington, having enjoyed belleship since her first "tea dance" at Rauscher's which one of her aunt's old friends had given in her honor, but possessed unbounded tact and a kindly heart. Her aunt, Miss Susan Baird, had seen to it that she was well educated and thoroughly grounded in French and German. Having a natural gift for languages, Kitty had put her early training to good account in her war work as a translator and code expert. To James' secret distress, Mrs. Parsons partook but indifferently of the deliciously cooked dinner, even refusing dessert which, to his mind, was inexplicable. "Has Miss Kitty Baird telephoned at any time to-day?" she asked, laying down her napkin. "No, Madam." James concealed his surprise. It was not like Mrs. Parsons to repeat herself, and to his best recollection, and he had a good memory, she had asked that same question at least a dozen times. "Will you have coffee served in the drawing room, Madam?" "I don't care for coffee to-night, thanks." Mrs. Parsons picked up her scarf and rose. "Tell Anton that if any one calls this evening, I am at home." "Very good, Madam," and James held back the porti�res for her as she left the room. Mrs. Parsons did not return to the drawing room: instead she made her way to the "den" at the end of the hall, a pretty square room, which served as a lounge and library. Once there she paused by the telephone stand and laid her hand on the instrument. "West, 789." She was forced to repeat the number several times before Central got it correctly. There was a brief wait, then came the answer, "Line disconnected, ma'am," and she heard Central ring off. Mrs. Parsons put down the instrument in bewildered surprise. "Why had Kitty Baird's telephone been disconnected?" She was still considering the puzzle as she rearranged some "bridesmaids' roses" in a vase. By it lay a note in Charles Craige's fine penmanship. Picking up the note, Mrs. Parsons read it for perhaps the twentieth time. It ran: My precious Cecelia: I am disconsolate that I cannot dine with you to-night. I have promised to see Kitty--poor girl, she needs all the sympathy and help we can give her. Miss me just a little and I shall be contented. My thoughts are with you always. Ever faithfully, Charles Craige.