g at her, thought they had never seen her so entrancingly
lovely.

"It is almost impossible to describe," she went on. "At first you have
only a confused impression that the world is on fire with electric
lights. To ride through the crowded theater district at night, with the
great electric signs blinking at you from all sides--with the honking of
the motor horns making a very Babel--with the crowds on the sidewalk,
still hurrying, but for such a different reason--men and women in evening
dress, all bound for one or other of the gay restaurants or theaters
close by. And then the theater itself! To walk from the street to the
gaily lighted lobby, its walls paneled from floor to ceiling with great
mirrors that reflect lovely women and distinguished men. Then in the
theater where the rich carpet deadens every footfall and you feel rather
than hear the murmur of many voices speaking softly--the subtle rustle of
a crowded place--the lights--the music--oh, girls, it was wonderful,
wonderful! I can't describe it!"

"Oh, but you have described it--beautifully!" cried Lucile. "I feel as if
I had been there!"

"Oh, just to go there once!" breathed Jessie, rapturously. "If I could
only see those things once, I think I'd be willing to die!"

The girls raised laughing protests, and Lucile cried, "For goodness'
sake, don't speak of dying yet awhile, Jessie. I'm going to see lots
before my end comes. Oh, if we could only go back with you, Miss How--I
mean Mrs. Wescott," she stammered, blushing furiously at her mistake.

The lovely guardian of the fire looked down upon Lucile, a quizzical
smile curling the corners of her mouth.

"I don't wonder you make that mistake once in a while," she said. "It
took me a long while to get used to it."

"I should think it would seem strange just at first," ventured Margaret,
amazed at her own temerity and looking up at her guardian shyly. "I mean
not being Miss Howland any longer."

The girls laughed and Margaret flushed confusedly.

"You shouldn't say such things, Margaret; it ill befits your age," said
Jessie patronizingly.

There followed another burst of laughter, out of which Margaret's voice
rose defiantly. "I don't care," she cried. "It seemed mighty funny to me
to call our guardian Mrs. Wescott, and if it seemed strange to me, what
must it have seemed to her? I was almost afraid----" her voice trailed
off into silence, and Mrs. Wescott prompted, gently, "Afraid of what,
dear?"