And from that time on Win’s attenuated meals were eked out by Cupid’s presentation chocolates and marshmallows.  Of the latter—­a novelty to her—­she and Sadie were very fond.  They seemed nourishing, too, or, at all events, “filling,” and came in handy when you had allotted yourself only five cents for luncheon.  As soon as Cupid learned his loved one’s penchant for marshmallows he contrived to produce a few each day, even if he had to “nick” them when the “candy girls” weren’t looking.

The morning of Christmas Eve (the day which, Win knew, would decide her fate at the Hands) Cupid appeared with a whole box of her favourites instead of the five or six crushed white shapes he generally offered in a torn bit of clean paper.

“Why, Cupid, how did you come by this gorgeousness?” asked Win, who had half a minute to spare in the luncheon lull.

“Don’t you worry and get a wrinkle, kid,” replied the youth, who had permission to apply any pet name he pleased.  “The stuff’s mine, all right.  And now it’s yours.  Unless you think I sneaked it.  Then you can chuck it away, box and all.  See?”

“Of course I don’t think you sneaked it.  You wouldn’t do such a thing.  But—­ought I to take it?  That’s the question.”

“‘It’s foolish question 786245,’” quoted Cupid with his weariest sneer.  “I’m the guy what put the nut in cokernut!  I guess there’ll be more where this come from in the sweet by and by.”

Win eyed him anxiously.  Now where had she heard that quotation about the “foolish question?” Why, it was a slang phrase of Mr. Logan’s.  He had used it only that morning, about half an hour earlier, in gay, bantering conversation with Miss Leavitt.  He “blew in,” as he called it, nearly every day now to buy something more for his “little sister’s Christmas tree,” something that he had forgotten yesterday, or to inquire earnestly after the sale of a mechanical frog, which he claimed as his own invention and patent.  He had never succeeded in getting Win to serve him, but he was as free to look at her as a cat is free to look at a king.

Apart, however, from telling glances which Miss Child never seemed to see, Mr. Logan appeared quite satisfied with the attentions of Miss Leavitt or Sadie Kirk, who had waited upon him once or twice when Lily was not available.

Suddenly an idea flashed into Winifred’s head.

“Did a man give you this box for me?” she inquired.

“Ain’t I man enough?” Cupid tried bluff to hide a flush that mounted to his yellow curls.

“Answer me.  You must.”

“Ain’t you some chicken to go on askin’ silly questions about a good thing?  You just take it, kid, and be thankful”

“I can’t, Cupid.  I thought you liked me.”

“You bet I do, sweetie.”

“Then you wouldn’t want to cheat me about such a thing, would you?  I’m fond of you, Cupid, and we’re friends, so I can accept presents from you.  But I don’t take them from strange men, and I should hate to feel you cared little enough for me to play such a joke.  It would get me misunderstood.”