He left her sitting up there in bed, her fingers still caressing the
silky treasure. As soon as he was gone, she climbed out of bed to
kneel in repentant humility.

"Dear Jesus," she prayed, "please forgive me for deceiving my dear
father and mother. If you'll forgive me just this once, I promise
never, never to deceive them again."

Then, feeling better--prayer, when there is real faith, does lift a
load amazingly--she climbed back into bed, with the furs on her
pillow.

But she could not sleep. That was natural--so much had happened, and
everything seemed so complicated. Everything had been seeming to go
against her and here, all of a sudden, everything had turned out her
way. She had her white fox furs, much prettier than Genevieve
Hicks's--oh, she DID hope they'd let her go to church next Sunday
night so she could wear them! And she'd had a serious little talk
with Arthur--the way seemed paved for her to exert a really
satisfactory influence over him. As soon as she could see him again-
-Oh, she wished she might wear the furs to the Library to-morrow
night! She wished Arthur could see her in them--

A sudden thought brought her up sharp: she couldn't meet him to-
morrow night after all--for she never wanted to deceive dear father
again. No, she would never sneak off like that any more. Yet it
wouldn't be fair to Arthur to let him go there and wait in vain. She
ought to let him know, some way. And she ought to let him know, too,
that that man wasn't father, after all. What if he was worrying,