in the fashion of a fairy-story hero: "I still love your
daughter, sir, and I've made my fortune. We want to be married. Your
blessing, please." And to himself: "I'll show the worst side of me to
the world so wolves won't come and steal my precious gold that I had
to have in order to win her; and I'll show my best side to the woman I
love, and that's fair enough!"

With surprising accuracy Mary Faithful's keen mind, aided by a tender
heart, had pieced this mosaic business and love story together, and as
she finished the panorama she glanced at the Gorgeous Girl in her mink
dolman and bright red straw hat, the useless knitting bag on her arm,
and Steve's engagement ring blazing away on her finger, and she sighed
unconsciously.

"Don't tell Miss Faithful any more," Beatrice protested. "I'm sure she
knows about everything, and it's late--I'm tired."

"All right, lady fair. That's all, Miss Faithful. Good-night," Steve
dismissed her abruptly.

As Mary left the room he was saying tenderly: "What did you do at
cooking school?"

And the Gorgeous Girl was answering: "We made pistachio fondant; and
next week it will be Scotch broth. It takes an hour to assemble the
vegetables and I dread it. Only half the class were there, the rest
were at Miss Harper's classical-dancing lesson. That's fun, too. I
think I'll take it up next year. I was just thinking how glad I am
papa built the big apartment house five years ago; it's so much nicer
to begin housekeeping there instead of a big place of one's own. It's
such work to have a house on your hands. Are you ready?"

"Hold on. Don't I deserve a single kiss?... Thank you, Mrs. O'Valley."
Then the door closed.

Mary Faithful picked up her notations. She tried to comfort herself
with the thought that no one should ever have reason to guess her
secret. If all honest men steal umbrellas and kisses, so do all honest
women fib as to the size of their shoes and the person they love best
of all the world!

CHAPTER II

Sunday was a much-dreaded day in Mary's calendar, partly because she
surrendered herself to the maternal monologue of how dreadful it was
to have a daughter in business and not a lady in a home of her own,
and partly because she missed the office routine and the magical
stimulation of Steve's presence. Besides, Trudy was a thorn in Mary's
flesh and on Sundays the thorn had a chance to assert herself in
particularly unendurable fashion.

For instance--the Sunday