s a questioner than with any one else.

"I guess they'll miss you a lot."

"Everyone's place can be filled, we must never forget that. And I
think the change is wise. The new firm seems agreeable."

"Did Mr. O'Valley give you anything?"

Mary flushed. It had been Luke who received the armful of flowers sent
anonymously.

"The firm gave me the wonderful desk set; you saw it before it was
sent to be monogrammed."

"Yes, but I mean Mr. O'Valley himself." Luke was quite manly and
threatening as he strode along. "Something for a keepsake because
you've worked so hard for him."

They paused at a corner to wait for the traffic to abate. Mary felt
faint and queer, as if she had lost her good right hand and was trying
to tell herself it wasn't such a bad thing after all because she would
only have to buy one glove from now on. Never to go into Steve's
office, never to talk with him, listen to him, advise and influence
him! She wanted to forget the sudden burst of affection, the protests
of love, for she could not believe them true. What she wanted was to
return to the old days of guarded control.

Beatrice's cab whirled by just then and Mary caught a glimpse of the
Gorgeous Girl in a gray cloak with a wonderful jewelled collar, and
Steve beside her. As the cab passed and Mary and Luke struck out
across the street Mary experienced a sense of defeat. As she talked to
Luke of this and that to turn his mind from the too-fascinating
question of who sent the flowers, she began to wonder if she, too,
would not wish to be a Gorgeous Girl should the opportunity present
itself? What would her brave platitudes count if she could wear bright
gold tulle with slim shoulder straps of jet supporting it? Away with
sport attire and untrimmed hats! To have absurdly frivolous little
shoes of blue brocade; to wear the brown hair in puffs and curls and
adorned with jade and pearls; to have a lace scarf thrown over her
shoulders and a greatcoat of white fur covering the tulle frock; to go
riding, riding, riding, at dusk through the crowded streets filled
with envying shop-girls and clerks, hard-working men and women. To
ride in an elegant little car with fresh flowers in a gold-banded
vase, a tiny clock saying it was nearly half after six, outside a gray
fog and a rain creeping up to make the crowds jostle wearily that they
might reach shelter before the storm broke. To have Steve, handsome
and adoring, beside her, laughing at her indulgentl