Ruth, however, and Emily reached the dining-room, found her book-bag, and was just going to return when she happened to glance at the mantelpiece. There, propped up against the clock, was a letter for her which had evidently come by the evening mail—a nice thin letter with the address of a magazine in the corner. Emily set her candle on the table, tore open the letter, found the acceptance of a poem and a check for three dollars. Acceptances—especially acceptances with checks—were still such rare occurrences with our Emily that they always made her a little crazy. She forgot Aunt Ruth—she forgot that it was nearing eleven o'clock : she stood there entranced, reading over and over the brief editorial note—brief, but, oh, how sweet! “Your charming poem”—“we would like to see more of your work”—oh, yes, indeed, they should see more of it.
Emily turned with a start. Was that a tap at the door? No—at the window. Who? What? The next moment she was aware that Perry was standing on the side verandah, grinning at her through the window.
She was at it in a flash and without pausing to think, still in the exhilaration of her acceptance, she slipped the catch and pushed the window up. She knew where Perry had been and was dying to know how he had got along. He had been invited to dinner with Dr. Hardy, in the fine Queen Street house. This was considered a great honour and very few students ever received it. Perry owed the invitation to his brillaint speech at the inter-school debate. Dr. Hardy had heard it and decided that here was a coming man.
Perry had been enormously proud of the invitation and had bragged of it to Teddy and Emily—not to Ilse, who had not yet forgiven him for his tactlessness on the night of the debate. Emily had been pleased, but had warned Perry that he would need to watch his step at Dr. Hardy’s. She felt some qualms in regard to his etiquette, but Perry had felt none. He would be all right, he loftily declared. Perry perched himself on the win-
