“They should really have a lift, to take the girls up to the lunch room,” said Susan to Billy.

“Of course they should,” said Billy, “and a sink to bring you down again!”

Peter Coleman did not return to San Francisco until the middle of March, but Susan had two of the long, ill-written and ill-spelled letters that are characteristic of the college graduate.  It was a wet afternoon in the week before Holy Week when she saw him again.  Front Office was very busy at three o’clock, and Miss Garvey had been telling a story.

“‘Don’t whistle, Mary, there’s a good girl,’ the priest says,” related Miss Garvey. “‘I never like to hear a girl whistle,’ he says.  Well, so that night Aggie,”—­Aggie was Miss Kelly—­“Aggie wrote a question, and she put it in the question-box they had at church for questions during the Mission.  ‘Is it a sin to whistle?’ she wrote.  And that night, when he was readin’ the questions out from the pulpit, he come to this one, and he looked right down at our pew over his glasses, and he says, ’The girl that asks this question is here,’ he says, ’and I would say to her, ’tis no sin to do anything that injures neither God nor your neighbor!’ Well, I thought Aggie and me would go through the floor!” And Miss Kelly and Miss Garvey put their heads down on their desks, and laughed until they cried.

Susan, looking up to laugh too, felt a thrill weaken her whole body, and her spine grow cold.  Peter Coleman, in his gloves and big overcoat, with his hat on the back of his head, was in Mr. Brauer’s office, and the electric light, turned on early this dark afternoon, shone full in his handsome, clean-shaven face.

Susan had some bills that she had planned to show to Mr. Brauer this afternoon.  Six months ago she would have taken them in to him at once, and been glad of the excuse.  But now she dropped her eyes, and busied herself with her work.  Her heart beat high, she attacked a particularly difficult bill, one she had been avoiding for days, and disposed of it in ten minutes.

A little later she glanced at Mr. Brauer’s office.  Peter was gone, and Susan felt a sensation of sickness.  She looked down at Mr. Baxter’s office, and saw him there, spreading kodak pictures over the old man’s desk, laughing and talking.  Presently he was gone again, and she saw him no more that day.

The next day, however, she found him at her desk when she came in.  They had ten minutes of inconsequential banter before Miss Cashell came in.

“How about a fool trip to the Chutes to-morrow night?” Peter asked in a low tone, just before departing.

“Lent,” Susan said reluctantly.

“Oh, so it is.  I suppose Auntie wouldn’t stand for a dinner?”

“Pos-i-to-ri-ly not!” Susan was hedged with convention.

“Positorily not?  Well, let’s walk the pup?  What?  All right, I’ll come at eight.”

“At eight,” said Susan, with a dancing heart.