hardly answer," he replied. "I shall be better
able to tell you in a week or two, I trust."

She lingered, with her hand on the door knob.

"My father is willing to take all the financial risks," she said. "That
ought to make a difference, don't you think so?"

"It would, with many houses," he admitted. "I am glad to know these
things. Thursday, then, Miss--Miss Fern."

He wanted to call her "Millicent," for he had read the name on the
package he still held in his hand; but on the whole he concluded that
this would be a little premature.

CHAPTER III.

"HER FEET WERE PINK."

When Miss Millicent Fern entered the office of Lawrence Gouger, as
detailed in the preceding chapter, it will be remembered that she found
that gentleman and his friend, Archie Weil, with their hats in their
hands. The fact was that Mr. Weil had but just entered the room, and
that Mr. Gouger had accepted an invitation to take lunch with him, an
arrangement that was by no means an infrequent one between them. The
entrance of Miss Fern, and the subsequent proceedings, compelled the
literary critic to go out alone, as has been seen. When he returned he
found Mr. Weil still there.

"Haven't you been to lunch yet!" exclaimed Mr. Gouger.

"I have not been out of this office," was the reply, "and all appetite
for anything to eat has left me. Lawrence, that is one of the most
interesting girls I ever met."

Mr. Gouger pursed up his lips, and uttered an impatient, "Pah!" He then
remarked that Mr. Weil had a habit of finding such a quality in the
latest women of his acquaintance.

"What does she amount to?" he asked. "An overgrown schoolgirl, who did
not half learn her lessons. Read that MSS. she left here, and get
disillusionized in short order. Why, she doesn't even know how to
spell, and her periods and commas are in a hopeless tangle."

His companion eyed him quizzically.

"Are periods and commas, even a correct spelling of the English
language, the only things you can see in a bright, handsome girl?" he
demanded. "For shame, Lawrence! You are a dried-up old mummy. Your
senses are numb. A lively wind will come in at the keyhole some day and
blow you out of that chimney."

Mr. Gouger heaved a sigh, as if to say that discussion with such a
nonsensical fellow was useless, and took his seat at his desk, where an
unfinished pile of MSS. awaited his reading.

"She's given me leave to take her story home," said Mr. Weil, with a
mischi