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Emily thrilled to the ends of her toes when she read this letter. “Yours fraternally”—oh, heavenly! She knelt at her window and looked out with enraptured eyes into the slender firs of the Land of Uprightness and the dewy young clover fields beyond. Oh, was it possible that some day she would be a brilliant, successful woman like Miss Royal? That letter made it seem possible—made every wonderful dream seem possible. And on Friday—four more days—she was going to see and talk intimately with her high priestess.

Mrs. Angela Royal, who called to see Aunt Ruth that evening, didn’t exactly seem to think Janet Royal a high priestess or a wonder. But then, of course, a prophetess is apt to have scant honour in her own country and Mrs. Royal had brought Janet up.

“I don’t say but what she’s got on well,” she confided to Aunt Ruth. “She gets a big salary. But she’s an old maid for all that. And as odd in some ways as Dick’s hat-band.”

Emily, studying Latin in the bay window, went on fire with indignation. This was nothing short of lèse-majesté.

“She is very fine looking yet,” said Aunt Ruth. “Janet was always a nice girl.”

“Oh, yes, she’s nice enough. But I was always afraid she was too clever to get married, and I was right. And she’s full of foreign notions. She’s never on time for her meals—and it really makes me sick the fuss she makes over that dog of hers—Chu-Chin, she calls it. He rules the house. He does exactly as he likes and nobody dare say a word. My poor cat can’t call her soul her own. Janet is so touchy about him. When I complained about him sleeping on the plush davenport she was so vexed she wouldn’t speak for a day. That’s a thing I don’t like about Janet. She gets so high and mighty when she’s offended. And she gets offended at things nobody else would dream of minding. And when she’s offended with one she’s offended with everybody. I hope nothing will upset her before you come on Friday, Emily. If she’s