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 friends, forming many relationships of varying sorts and of varying satisfaction in place of the one perfect one. Not so with Cicely. A cold woman, people called her. Beautiful, brilliant, with a brain that had but to be touched to respond, but with feelings scarcely ever aroused.

But to-night Cicely's feelings had been aroused. Something tender and unfamiliarly maternal had stolen over her as she had sat on the couch beside Sheilah, and held her hand. Sheilah on her part had felt something tender for Cicely. A little of that nearly forgotten, young-girl infatuation for Cicely had swept over Sheilah, as Cicely had risen to say good-bye. Cicely had been aware of it, and she treasured it to-night, as she sped home underneath the stars. Home! Six servants, a German police dog and a wire-haired fox-terrier!

Cicely called up Dr. Sheldon after her solitary dinner that night. The police dog announced him at nine o'clock.

Two days later Sheilah received a letter from Cicely. Her throat ached and her eyes smarted as she read it.

It had not been until after Dr. Sheldon had left Cicely Morgan that night that she had asked for her mail. There had been only one letter—a letter,