and asked there, and had a quite wonderful time.

Her "poor" friend came in, whenever he could, for tea and toast; and
sometimes he made what he called "a miserable return" for this
hospitality, by asking Godmother and Mary Alice to dine with him at his
palace on upper Fifth Avenue and afterwards to sit in his box at the
opera. He was a widower, and his two sons were married and lived in
palaces of their own. His only daughter was abroad finishing her
education; and his great, lonely house was to serve a brief purpose for
her when she "came out" and until she married. Then, he thought, he
would either give it up or turn it over to her; certainly he would not
keep it for himself.

At first, Mary Alice found it hard to remember the Secret "with so many
footmen around." But by and by she got used to them and, other things
being equal, could have nearly as good a time in a palace as in a flat.
For this, she had a wonderful example in Godmother of whom some one had
once said, admiringly, that she was "never mean to anybody just because
he's rich." It was true. Godmother was just as "nice" to the rich as
to the poor, to the "cowering celebrity" (as she was wont to say) as to
the most important nobody. It was the Secret that helped her to do it.
It was the Secret that helped Mary Alice.

And so the winter went flying by. Twice, letters came--from him; and
Mary Alice answered them, giving the answers to Godmother to send.
Once he wrote from London, and once from somewhere on the Bosphorus.
They were lonesome letters, both; but he didn't ask for the Secret,
though he mentioned it each time.

IX

TELLING THE SECRET TO MOTHER

In March, Godmother said: "I am going abroad for the summer, dear, and
I've just had a conference with my man of affairs. He reports some
unexpectedly good dividends from my small handful of stock in a company
that is enjoying a boom, and so if we're careful--you and I--there will
be enough so I can take you with me." Mary Alice was too surprised,
too happy to speak. "Now, you'll want to go home, of course,"
Godmother went on, "and so we'll agree on a sailing date and then you
may fly back to mother as soon as you wish, and stay till it's time to
go abroad."

They decided to sail the first of May; so Mary Alice went home almost
immediately, and on an evening late in March got off the train on to
that familiar platform whence she had so fearfully set forth only four
short months ago