When Elaine arrived there was a rush in her direction. Four newspapers were shaken in her face. Four voices, each uplifted in the laudable effort to drown out the other three, read the most thrilling of the head-lines. Elaine stared incredulously at the heroine with the dishevelled hair, on the point of plunging from the deck of the yacht into tossing waves below. At last the truth dawned upon her. "You don’t mean, girls," she gasped, "you can’t mean that it is intended for--me. O, it can’t be possible." In chorus four voices read, "The heroine of the occasion is Miss Elaine Marshall, 2618 Friendly Terrace." Further disclosures were checked by Elaine’s putting her hands over her ears. "All that in the paper about me? How perfectly dreadful! How in the world could they have found out about it?" Ruth looked a little guilty. On her arrival home Saturday night, she had painted Elaine’s exploit in glowing colors, and Graham’s friend, Jack Rynson, was a reporter on the _Star_. Fortunately Elaine did not notice the incriminating color in Ruth’s cheeks, and Peggy was saying consolingly, "Why, I think it’s splendid. Just listen, Elaine! ’Seeing the peril of the child, the intrepid young woman, with a magnificent disregard for her own peril--’" "Please," implored Elaine, her cheeks flaming. "I feel like a hypocrite, when I look at that yacht and those foaming waves, and think of that ridiculous old dug-out and the smooth little pond. Heroine! It’s the most absurd thing I ever heard of." But though Elaine protested, the fact remains that there are more unpleasant things than to be overpraised for what one has done. Her mother’s air of radiant pride, the satisfaction the other girls took in the highly decorated account of the exploit, even the reporter’s superfluous adjectives were not without their agreeable side. When the departure of the girls with the rustling newspapers left the house to its customary quiet, Elaine was aware of an inconsistent, and thoroughly inexplicable impression that something very pleasant had happened. The peremptory ringing of the telephone bell interrupted Elaine’s supper. Mrs. Marshall and Grace listened to the following one-sided conversation. "Yes, yes, it’s the same one." "Why, I didn’t know." "O, it was dreadfully exaggerated. It really wasn’t anything." "No indeed. I feel as well as ever." "She’s very well, thank you, and Grace too." "I’m sure we’re glad to know our friends haven’t forgotten us." "O, we’d be so pleased to see you any time. O, thank you, very much. Good night." When she had hung up the receiver she turned a luminous face upon her family. "What do you think," she cried tremulously. "That was Mrs. Winthrop." "Not Mrs. Littleton Winthrop!" Mrs. Marshall set down her tea-cup, her hand shaking. "Yes. She had read that ridiculous account in the paper, and she said the nicest things. And she and Vivian are coming to see us very soon. O, dear, I’m too excited to eat."