do it with her eyes shut. Cube root, all historic dates, all x, y, z's,
were as printing to her, dinned into the warp and woof of her by patient
reiteration. She was very tired, too. The rest of the long June days
stretched ahead of her in weary perspective.

That these three had drifted together in the great city was sufficiently
curious, but more curious yet was the "drifting together" of T.O.--a
plain little clerk in a great department store. She, herself, humbly
acknowledged that she did not seem to "belong," but here she was,
divesting herself of her wet wraps and getting ready for tea in the tiny
flat. Handkerchiefs, initialed, "warranted,"--uninitialed,
unwarranted--were behind her and ahead, but between she forgot their
existence and took her comfort.

"Well?" she said presently. "I'm ready." They sat down to the simple
little meal without further delay and with the first mouthfuls opened
again the rather time-worn discussion. Could they adopt the Grand Plan?
Oh, _couldn't_ they? To get out of the hot, teeming city and
breathe air enough and pure enough, to luxuriate in idleness, to
_rest_--to a girl, they longed for it. They were all orphans, and
they were all poor. The Grand Plan was ambitious, indefinite, but they
could not give it up. They had wintered it and springed it, and clung
to it through bright days and dark.

Suddenly Loraine tapped sharply on the table. "All in favor of spending
the summer in the country say 'aye,'" she cried, "and say it hard!"

"Aye!"

"Aye!"