"I'm going now, this minute," she declared. "I'm suffocated."
Lois, who had thrown herself down on the bed between laughter and tears, murmured a vague promise to follow. She changed her mind later and decided on a cold shower instead.
As she went down the stairs to Roman Alley, she heard some one stumble, and then the thud, thud, of falling boxes.
"Who is it, did you hurt yourself?" she called, and hurried around the turn of the stairs. A remarkably pretty woman looked up from a waterfall of canvases.
"No; but I deserved to, for carrying a lazy man's load," she laughed.
"Let me help," Lois offered, starting to pick up the canvases, "you must be Miss Crosby. Oh, but that's nice," she added suddenly, holding out a sketch at arm's length.
Miss Crosby smiled.
"Do you like it? I did it this summer. Are you interested in drawing?" she asked.
"Oh, yes!" Lois's tone was surprised—as if any one could doubt such a well known fact.
"Then you must be Lois Farwell," she said.