erfect nonchalance five pounds upon her
mother's watch. She had no idea that she ought to dispute
the dictum of the bald young man with the fishy eyes and
the high collar. It did not occur to her that she was
paid too little. What she realized was that she had wanted
to pawn something all her life--it was a deliciously
effective extremity. She reserved her rings with the
distinct purpose of having the experience again. Then
she made a substantial lunch at a rather expensive
restaurant. "It isn't time yet," she thought, "for crusts
and dripping," and tipped the waiter a shilling, telling
him to get her a cab. As she turned into the Strand she
told the cabman to drive slowly, and made him stop at
the first newspaper office she saw. As she alighted a
sense of her extravagance dawned upon her, and she paid
the man off. Then she made a resolutely charming ascent
to the editorial rooms of the _Illustrated Age_.

Twenty minutes later she came down again, and the door
was opened for her by Mr. Arthur Rattray, one of the
sub-editors, a young man who had already distinguished
himself on the staff of the _Age_ by his intelligent
perception of paying matter, and his enterprise in securing
it. Elfrida continued to carry her opinions upon the
social ideals of her native democracy in their much
stained envelope, but there was a light in her eyes which
seemed to be the reflection of success.

"It's still raining," said the young man cheerfully.

"So it is," Elfrida responded. "And--oh, how atrocious
of me!--I've left my umbrella in the cab!"

"Hard luck!" exclaimed Mr. Rattray; "an umbrella is an
organic part of one in London. Shall I stop this 'bus?"

"Thanks, no. I'll walk, I think. It's only a little way.
I shan't get wet. Good-afternoon!" Elfrida nodded to him
brightly and hurried off; but it could not have occasioned
her surprise to find Mr. Rattray beside her a moment
later with a careful and attentive umbrella, and the
intention of being allowed to accompany her that little
way. By the time they arrived Mr. Rattray had pledged
himself to visit Scotland Yard next day in search of a
dark brown silk _en tout cas_ with a handle in the
similitude of an ivory mummy.

"Are these your diggings?" he asked, as they reached the
house. "Why, Ticke lives here too--the gentle Golightly--do
you know him?" Elfrida acknowledged her acquaintance with
Mr. Ticke, and Mr. Rattray hastened to deprecate her
thanks for his escort. "Rememb