car for a ride, when he had learned that she had been inside all day taking care of a sick child. Lucretia had put on Bee's long motor-coat, left behind in the closet. The little round fur cap that matched it became her. Thomas Hornby hadn't thought her pretty the other night, but as she came smiling down the stairs, enveloped in the rich dark fur, he proclaimed her lovely.
"How's the patient?" he asked, taking her hand in greeting.
"Oh, much better," she smiled. "I must be back, though, at five-thirty. I have to take his temperature."
"Very well, I'll see to that." Most girls had to be back for hair-dressers or manicurists, some such nonsense. Thomas Hornby had had a débutante sister once. "I'll get you back any hour you say. But, look here, you'll need a muff," he broke off. "It's fearfully cold. Bring that little brown one," he laughed.
Lucretia replied, "Where have you seen me before, please?"
"Is this yours?" he sparkled, and from beneath his coon coat he produced a small umbrella. "I've had it mended."
Lucretia took the ninety-eight-cent wooden-handled affair and examined it. "It's mine,"
