“You’re so big and brave and daring; you’re like a soldier! I can’t bear to have you miss connections, Cis.” Nan said softly. “Not enlist.”
“Nice Nanny!” Cis began again, then held up her hand.
“Footsteps on the stairs, strange ones! Nan, they’re coming this way! Think the company is sorry, and is sending me an appointment in the main office?”
Cis opened her door to a boy who knocked, a messenger boy.
“Miss Cicely Adair,” said the boy, glancing from one to the other girl. “Answer. I wait—R. S. V. P., see?”
“I see!” cried Cis, smiling at the boy in perfect sympathy with his boyhood.
“I’m the lady you seek! Sit down—but for goodness’ sake don’t sit on my best hat! I’ll read, then I’ll write—maybe!”
She tore open the envelope addressed to her in an unknown, feminine hand, an unusual hand, full of character and refinement; she drew forth its contents.
“Well, Nan!” exclaimed Cis. “It’s from Miss Lucas! Here, read it!”
Then she threw on the floor a pile of articles which covered a straight chair’s seat, shoved back other things from the table end, and wrote: