ugh the front door. She opened the
sitting-room door and pushed him in. Lucy Ellen rose in amazement.
Over Cromwell's bald head loomed Cecily's dark face, tragic and
determined.

"Here's your beau, Lucy Ellen," she said, "and I give you back your
promise."

She shut the door upon the sudden illumination of Lucy Ellen's face
and went up-stairs with the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"It's my turn to wish I was dead," she muttered. Then she laughed
hysterically.

"That goose of a Cromwell! How queer he did look standing there,
frightened to death of Lucy Ellen. Poor little Lucy Ellen! Well, I
hope he'll be good to her."

The Pursuit of the Ideal

Freda's snuggery was aglow with the rose-red splendour of an open fire
which was triumphantly warding off the stealthy approaches of the dull
grey autumn twilight. Roger St. Clair stretched himself out
luxuriously in an easy-chair with a sigh of pleasure.

"Freda, your armchairs are the most comfy in the world. How do you get
them to fit into a fellow's kinks so splendidly?"

Freda smiled at him out of big, owlish eyes that were the same tint as
the coppery grey sea upon which the north window of the snuggery
looked.

"Any armchair will fit a lazy fellow's kinks," she said.

"I'm not lazy," protested Roger. "That you should say so, Freda, when
I have wheeled all the way out of town this dismal afternoon over the
worst bicycle road in three kingdoms to see you, bonnie maid!"

"I like lazy people," said Freda softly, tilting her spoon on a cup of
chocolate with a slender brown hand.

Roger smiled at her chummily.

"You are such a comfortable girl," he said. "I like to talk to you and
tell you things."

"You have something to tell me today. It has been fairly sticking out
of your eyes ever since you came. Now, 'fess."

Freda put away her cup and saucer, got up, and stood by the fireplace,
with one arm outstretched along the quaintly carved old mantel. She
laid her head down on its curve and looked expectantly at Roger.

"I have seen my ideal, Freda," said Roger gravely.

Freda lifted her head and then laid it down again. She did not speak.
Roger was glad of it. Even at the moment he found himself thinking
that Freda had a genius for silence. Any other girl he knew would have
broken in at once with surprised exclamations and questions and
spoiled his story.

"You have not forgotten what my ideal woman is like?" he said.

Freda shook her head. She wa