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He got no further. Miss Jinny, who had won first place in the interest of the art community as Sinbad and kept it by her own wholesome goodness, was surrounded and overwhelmed. Patricia was the first to seize her unwilling hand. "Woman," cried Jen, with energy, "no one but you could manufacture the poison with which the devil-stick was filled." "I didn't understand you were joking," he said quietly..

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"If Mrs. Hudson hasn't any other room, she can have mine," said Judith promptly. "She never would let us make up for all those afternoons that she kept the library for us, and I'd love to be dreadfully uncomfortable if I could help make her comfortable." "'He or she,'" repeated Jen, slowly. "Dido I mentioned; but 'he!' who is 'he?'" Mrs. Shelly in her new bonnet with a gay little pansy on it, Miss Jinny in another bran new hat, made quite a festive appearance, and the great humor of them both and their sincere pleasure in being so important a part in the little home group gave an added zest to the evening's merry-making. That night I did so many exercises that at last I sank exhausted in a chair in front of my mirror and put my head down on my arms and cried the real tears you cry when nobody is looking. I felt terribly old and ugly and dowdy and—widowed. It couldn't have been jealousy, for I just love that girl. I want most awfully to hug her very slimness, and it was more what she might think of poor dumpy me than what any man in Hillsboro, or Paris, could possibly feel on the subject, that hurt so hard. But then, looking back on it, I am afraid that jealousy sheds feathers every night so you won't know him in the morning, for something made me sit up suddenly with a spark in my eyes and reach out to the desk for my pencil and cheque-book. It took me more than an hour to reckon it all up, but I went to bed a happier, though in prospects a poorer woman..