ise smile spread upon Miss St. Clair's derouged face. She dropped
her lashes and lifted them again. "Long," she replied significantly,
"and _intimate_."

The blue eyes danced. "My daughter seems interested in her. And I
have a mother's anxiety."

Tottie was blessed with a sense of humor, but she conquered her desire
to laugh. The daughter in question was a woman older than herself;
under the circumstances, a "mother's anxiety" was hardly deserving of
sympathy. Nevertheless, the landlady answered in a voice that was deep
with condolence. "Oh, _I_ understand how y' feel," she declared.

"We know very little about her. I wonder--can _you_--tell
me--_something_."

Tottie let her eyes fall--to the modish dress, with its touches of
lace; to a pearl-and-amethyst brooch that held Mrs. Milo's collar; to
the fresh gloves and the smart shoes. She recognized good taste even
though she did not choose to subscribe to it; also, she recognized cost
values. She looked up with a mysterious smile. "Well," she said
slowly, "I don't like to--knock anybody."

"A-a-ah!" triumphed the elder woman; "I thought so!--Now, you won't let
me be imposed upon! Please! Quick!" A white glove was laid on a
chiffon sleeve.

"Sh!--Later! Later!" The landlady drew away, pointing toward the
back-parlor warningly. The situation was to her taste. She seemed to
be a part of one of those very scenes for which her soul
yearned--melodramatic scenes such as she had witnessed across
footlights, with her husky-voiced favorite in the principal role.

"I'll come back," whispered Mrs. Milo.

"No. I'll 'phone you." With measured tread, Tottie stalked to the
double door, her eyes shifting, and one hand outstretched with
spraddling fingers to indicate caution.

Mrs. Milo trotted after her. "But I think I'd better come back."

Tottie whirled. "What's your 'phone number?"

"Stuyvesant--three, nine, seven,"--this before she could remember that
she was not planning to sleep under the Rectory roof again.

"Don't I git more'n a number?" persisted Tottie. "Whom 'm I to ask
for?"

"Just say 'Mrs. Milo.'"

"Stuyvesant--three, nine, seven, Mrs. Milo," repeated Tottie, leaning
down at the table to note the data. Then with the information safely
registered, "Of course, it'll be worth somethin' to you."

Mrs. Milo almost reeled. She opened her mouth for breath.
"Why--why--you mean----" All her boasted poise was gone.

Tottie grinned--with a