For Cecille had learned that morning that Perry was leaving at midnight
for the South. With Felicity gone she realized how little chance there
was of his ever returning again to frequent the apartment. And nothing
else in the world much mattered. She was too deep sunk in misery even to
try to dissemble her apathy. But Felicity had not forgotten a single
night when she had waked to hear the other girl crying; she missed
nothing of her present dejection.

"Well, I'm off!" This without even turning from the mirror.

Cecille failed to answer. She crossed the room and dropped heavily into
a chair.

"We're catching the three-thirty this afternoon for the West."

Again silence for a while, and then a dry, strained question.

"Aren't you afraid?"

She'd made up her mind to ask at least that question. She had admitted
to herself that she had to ask it. And her tone made Felicity wheel.

"Of what?" Felicity demanded, a little blank.

Cecille laughed. It was a woeful, croaking attempt at flippancy.

"Oh, the old line of stuff!" She had never before employed Felicity's
brand of slang. It came unpleasantly from her tongue. "The wages of sin
and all that sort of thing."

That brought Felicity across the room until she stood, hands bracketed on
hips, above her.

"Don't you worry about me, Cele," she said slowly. "Don't you nor any
one else spend any pennies buying extras, expecting to strike news of my
violent and untimely end. Safety First; that's my maiden name. I let
Dunham drive thirty-five when he's sober. When he isn't, I walk. And
I'm going to be that careful about deep water that I'll bathe always
under a shower. Don't you worry about me." She paused soberly.

"It's you," she stated, "I'm worried about."

It was Felicity who displayed feeling at the end.

She stood quite a while staring down at the other girl's bright hair.
Then with an air of definite purpose she drew up a chair for herself.

"I don't get you," she mused. "You're a queer kid.

". . . From the country?"

"I suppose so," Cecille admitted. "I didn't use to think so. I used to
think we were quite--"

"That'll do," cut in Felicity. "I get it from that much description.

". . . Raised strict?"

"I guess so--pretty strict."

"Rigid church people?"

"Yes."

A little time of silence.

"Gee, that's tough!"

And Felicity's gravity at last had caught at the other girl's attention.
Slowly she looked up.

"Why?" she