the pages of the telephone directory for the number he wanted.

"Yes, she and Betty are to spend their vacation with me. We are going
out to Eugenia's to-morrow afternoon to spend Christmas eve and part of
Christmas day."

"Then that was the surprise that Eugenia wrote about," said Phil, taking
out his watch. "She wouldn't tell what it was, but said that it would be
worth my while to come. Yes, the train is on time."

He hung up the receiver. "I won't be able to wait for it, if I get out
to Eugenia's for dinner, but I can see you safely to the station on my
way. It is about time we were starting if you expect to reach it."

Joyce made a final dab at her picture, dropped the brush and hurried
into the next room for her wraps. It seemed to Phil that he had scarcely
turned around till she was back again, hatted and gloved. The artist in
the long apron had given place to a stylish tailor-made girl in a brown
street-suit. Phil looked down at her approvingly as they stepped out
into the wintry air together.

The great show windows were ablaze with lights by this time, and the
rush of the crowds almost took her off her feet. Phil at her elbow
piloted her along to a corner where they were to take a car.

"I'm glad that I happened along to take you under my wing," he said.
"You ought not to be out alone on the streets at night."

"It isn't six o'clock yet," she answered. "And this is the first time
that I had no escort arranged for. Mrs. Boyd always comes with me. She's
little and meek, but her white hair counts for a lot. She would have
gone to the station with me, but she and Lucy are dining out. We girls
will be all alone to-night. I wish they were not expecting you out at
Eugenia's to dinner. I'd take you back with me. I have prepared quite a
company spread, things that you especially like."

"There's a telephone out to the place," he suggested. "I could easily
let them know if I missed my train, and I could easily miss it--if my
invitation were pressing enough."

"Then _do_ miss it," she insisted, smiling up at him so cordially that
he laughed and said in a complacent tone, "We'll consider it done. I'll
telephone Eugenia from the station, that I'll not be out till morning.
Really," he added a moment later, "it will be more like a sure-enough
home-coming to come back to you and that little chatterbox of a Mary
than to go out to my brother's. Eugenia is a dear, but I've never known
her except as a bride or a dignifi