ible for her to eat luncheon at Arrandale's,--wherever
that might be.

Scorch caught up his cap and hustled her out of the gate, and out of the
main office door, and whistled shrilly to an elevator that was just
shooting down.

"Come on, Nancy!" he said, with immense patronage. "We'll have a swell
dinner and it takes time to do it. When does your train get away?"

She managed to tell him.

"Golly! we are all right, then. We can talk over the eats, an' you can
tell me your troubles and I'll relate the story of my life to you--eh?"

The girl tried to smile at him, for she realized that his chatter was
kept up partly for the purpose of covering her disappointment. But Nancy
was no baby-girl; by the time the elevator reached the lower floor of
the building she had winked back her tears and the ache had gone out of
her throat.

"This way, Nancy," said her conductor, cheerfully rushing her through
the revolving door to the sidewalk. "There's Arrandale's over yonder. If
I'd known I was going to eat at such a swell place to-day I'd have worn
my glad rags--good duds, you know."

"You--you look all right," returned Nancy, smiling, for the red-headed
boy did indeed have a neat appearance. Somebody took pains to make him
spruce when he started for the office in the morning. "I guess you've
got some folks?" she questioned.

"Sure. My mother scrubs out the offices. That's how I come by my job. My
big sister keeps house for us, an' the kids are in school. Yes! there's
folks enough belonging to me. But my father is dead."

"I--I don't know anything about my father or mother--or any of my
folks."

"No! Don't old Gordon know?"

"He says not."

"And he's your guardeen?"

Nancy was silent for a moment. But she was a perfectly honest girl and
she knew she was allowing Scorch to gain a wrong impression.

"He--he isn't my guardian," she blurted out as they crossed the street.

"Hey? I thought you said he was!"

"And I thought so, then. This is the first time I ever saw him. He says
he is not my guardian and that he doesn't know anything about me. He
only has money sent to him to spend for me."

"You don't mean it?" cried Scorch, his eyes twinkling. "That's like a
story; ain't it? You're the mysterious heiress who doesn't know who she
is. That's great!"

"Do you think so?" demanded Nancy, rather warmly. "Well, let me tell you
it isn't nice at all."

"Why not?" demanded the romance-loving youth.

"Why.... The girls at