Be sure and have
it ready."

"Yes, ma'am," responded the ubiquitous Lizzie.

"And just a moment," continued Mrs. Anderson, in a confidential tone,
beckoning to the slavey. "Go up to the garret and get me that large
picture of Mr. Lawrence we had on the piano last time he was here."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Here, take this one with you," added Aunt Jane, craftily, picking up a
photograph of a blond man with curly hair. "It's Jimmy Carlton--he's
gone to California and won't be back until spring. Put this one away
with the others. And see that Mr. Lawrence's picture is nicely dusted. I
want him to feel at home when he comes in and sees it on the piano."

Mortimer, who was busily looking at the photographs, suddenly saw one he
recognized.

"Isn't that Flossie Forsythe?" he inquired.

"The very same," answered Mrs. Anderson. "She's staying here, too--she
and her chum, Miss Lexington. Lizzie, show Mr. Mortimer the house--and
Lizzie," she added confidentially, "recommend the fourth floor front. It
ain't no more, but the bath always rents the third easier."

Half a moment later, with Lizzie on the fourth floor, the bell rang
again and this time Mrs. Anderson herself was compelled to answer it. A
messenger boy with a large box of flowers stepped into the hallway. Mrs.
Anderson took the box and looked at the card.

"For Miss Farnum?" she sniffed. "Humph! This is the third time since
Sunday she's had flowers from somewhere. Who sent them, boy?"

The snub-nosed Mercury gazed up at her and winked.

"How d'je t'ink I knows de guy's name?" he retorted.

"Impudent!" replied Aunt Jane.

"An' say, lady, I got a note also for Miss--Miss Farnum."

"Give it to me, then, you young rascal."

"Nixey." The boy shook his head and winked again. "Told me to give it to
Miss Farnum 'erself."

"But I can give it to her."

"Maybe my eye's green, too," answered the messenger. "De gent who give
me dis said give it only to her. If she ain't in, I got to come back
when she is."

"Miss Farnum is not in," declared Aunt Jane, indignantly. "And you're a
rude, disrespectful boy, to speak so to your elders."

"Well, say, when will her nibs get back?"

"In about half an hour," retorted Aunt Jane, slamming the door on him
and taking the box into the parlor. Once there, she peered curiously at
the box. It was only an ordinary florist's box, but a big one, and it
evidently contained costly, long-stemmed American Beauties. There was a
small note a