the toast and
tea.

"I don't know, yet," she admitted, "I'm just trying it. That's another
reason I can't tell you now. I have to wait until I've tried it
thoroughly."

"You're a nice, modest young person from the backwoods," laughed
Godmother when they were going home, "selecting the largest, livest
lion of the evening and running off with him to the safe shelter of the
hall."

"Lion?" said Mary Alice, wonderingly. "What lion?"

"The young man you kept so shamelessly to yourself nearly all evening."

"I didn't know he was any kind of a lion," apologized Mary Alice,
humbly. "He just seemed to be----" She stopped, and her eyes danced
delightedly. "I was trying the Secret on him," she went on, "and I
believe it worked."

"I think it must have," said Godmother, "for he came up to me, before I
left, and exhibited all the signs of a gentleman who wants to be asked
to call. So I invited him to come in to-morrow for a cup of tea."

"Is he--is he coming?" asked Mary Alice, "and won't you please tell me
what kind of a lion he is, and what's his name?"

"He is coming," said Godmother, smiling mischievously, "and I don't
know whether to tell you his name or not. Maybe he'd rather do that
himself."

"I don't care if he doesn't," laughed Mary Alice; "he's a nice man, and
he seemed to be real----" And then she stopped again and looked
mysteriously knowing. And Godmother nodded approvingly.

"I loved the party," murmured Mary Alice, happily, as Godmother bent
over to give her her last good-night kiss. "I never supposed a party
where one didn't know a soul could be so nice."

"Knowing or not knowing people makes much less difference--when you
remember the Secret. Don't you find it so?" said Godmother.

And Mary Alice assented. "Yes, oh, yes! It's a wonderful magic--the
dear Secret is," she said.

VII

AT CANDLE-LIGHTIN' TIME

The next morning, Mary Alice wanted to know who everybody was; and
Godmother told her--every one but "the young man lion" as she called
him. The home they had been to was that of a celebrated editor and man
of letters who numbered among his friends the most delightful people of
many nations. The guests represented a variety of talents. The large,
dark, distinctly-foreign looking man was the great baritone of one of
the opera houses. The younger man, with the long, dark hair, was a
violinist about whom all New York was talking. The gray-haired man
with the goatee was