this minute, thinking she might have been caught and punished. It
didn't seem right, while SHE was so happy, to leave poor Arthur
worrying like that. . . Oh, she DID wish he could see her in the
furs. . . Yes, she OUGHT to tell him she couldn't keep the "date"--
it would be awful for him to sit there in the Library, waiting and
waiting. . .

She kept up her disturbed ponderings until the house grew dark and
still. Then, very quietly, she crept out of bed and dressed herself
in the dark. She put on her cloak and hat. After a second's
hesitation she added the white fox furs. Then, holding her breath,
she stole down the back stairs and out the kitchen door.

The night seemed more fearsomely spectral than ever--it must be
terribly late; but she sped through the white silence resolutely.
She was glad Arthur's boarding-house was only two blocks away. She
knew which was his window; she stood beneath it and softly gave "the
crowd's" whistle. Waited--whistled again. There was his window going
up at last. And Arthur's tousled head peering out.

"I just wanted to let you know I can't come to the Library after
all, Arthur! No!--Don't say anything, now!--I'll explain all about
it when I get a chance. And that wasn't father--it turned out all
right. No, no!--Don't say anything now! Maybe I'll be in the kitchen
to-morrow. Good night!"

Then, while Arthur stared after her amazedly, she turned and
scurried like a scared rabbit through the white silence.

As she ran she was wondering whether Arthur had got a really good