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 But Fate was not so kind to him. An instant later his aunt's old servant put her head in at the door to say: "'Tis the little princess, sir, would like a worrud with you."

Austin hesitated. This was against the rules—a good deal more against the rules than Mr. Doughty's innocent attempt to light a cigar. It was not only against the rules, but against his principles—he did not intend the girls to get into the habit of coming to his study. And yet he did want to speak to Elise about this question of her handwriting. While he was debating the matter with himself, his right hand stole out and, without any conscious mandate from its owner, it took the photograph of Susie in its silver frame, and laid it face downward in a drawer of the desk. Then he said to the servant:

"Let her come in."

The next instant she was standing timidly on the threshold. She was wearing a pale-blue sweater, and on it was pinned a crisp, white gardenia.

"May I speak to you, sir?" she just breathed.

It had never occurred to him that she would call him "sir," and for some reason it