Lily had to give it up, at least for that night, but she made up her mind to call Ada on the telephone early in the morning and reproach her for keeping people awake by suddenly becoming mysterious. Of course, though, the explanation would be simple, and the mystery would turn out to be nothing of any importance. Ada never knew any exciting secrets and probably hadn’t intended to be mysterious at all. Having come to this conclusion, Lily let her thoughts go where they wanted to go, though they were not so much thoughts as pictures and dreamy echoes of sounds—pictures of dark and tender eyes bent devotedly upon hers, dreamy echoes of a mellow voice murmuring fond things to the lilting accompaniment of far-away dance music. So, finally, she slept, and slept smiling. A coloured maid tapped at her door in the morning, and, being bidden to enter, came in and brought to Lily’s bedside a note addressed in Ada’s hand. “Must been lef’ here in the night-time, Miss Lily, or else awful early this morn’. It was stickin’ under the front door when I went to bring in the newspaper.” Lily read the note. It was the only thing we could do, Lily, to keep my people from guessing what was really going on. We didn’t mean to let it go on so long, but we had to wait until we could save up enough to start with. Of course, I know everybody will say I’m hopelessly mad and reckless, and my family will be terribly upset. I _told_ you I wished I were like you. If it were you, you could get away with a thing like this and after a day or so nobody would think anything about it, but I know how awful and different it will seem to everybody because _I’m_ the one that does it! I’m glad you told me it didn’t really mean anything serious to you—I was sure it wouldn’t. I hope you won’t feel I ought to have given you my confidence, and I _would_ have given it if it hadn’t been such a serious matter. Besides, the real truth is, Lily, our whole friendship seemed to be centred on your affairs and you, never on me or mine. You were so interested in the confidences you made to me, you never even seemed to think I had any to make of my own and you never invited any. Please don’t take this for criticism—and _please_ wish me happiness! Lily dressed hurriedly; Ada had indeed mystified and disturbed her now; and she was eager to get to the telephone downstairs and find out what in the world this strange communication portended. But as she passed the dining-room door on her way to the little telephone table in the hall, her mother called to her. Mr. and Mrs. Dodge were at breakfast. “Not now, Mamma. I’ll come in a moment. I want to telephone to Ada first.” “Lily,” her father said, urgently, “I wouldn’t.” His tone arrested her, and she paused near the doorway. “You wouldn’t telephone to Ada?” she asked, nervously. “Why wouldn’t you?” “Ada’s not there,” he said, gravely. “Come here, Lily.”