“Not old friends,” Susan corrected serenely, as they were introduced.

“But vurry, vurry de-ah,” supplemented Peter, “aren’t we?”

“I hope Mrs. Lawrence knows you well enough to know how foolish you are, Peter!” Susan said composedly.

And Mrs. Lawrence said brightly, “Indeed I do!  For we are very old friends, aren’t we, Peter?”

But the woman’s eyes still showed a little puzzlement.  The exact position of this girl, with her ready “Peter,” her willingness to disclaim an old friendship, her pleasant unresponsiveness, was a little hard to determine.  A lady, obviously, a possible beauty, and entirely unknown—­

“Well, we must run,” Mrs. Lawrence recalled herself to say suddenly.  “But why won’t you and Miss Lord run up to see Chrissy for a few moments, Miss Brown?  The poor kiddy is frightfully dull.  And you’ll be here in the morning as usual, Miss Lord?  That’s good.  Good-night!”

“You did that, Sue, you darling!” exulted Lydia, as they ran down the stone steps an hour later, and locked arms to walk briskly along the dark street.  “Your knowing Mr. Coleman saved the day!” And, in the exuberance of her spirits, she took Susan into a brightly lighted little candy-store, and treated her to ice-cream.  They carried some home in a dripping paper box for Mary, who was duly horrified, agitated and rejoiced over the history of the day.

Through Susan’s mind, as she lay wakeful in bed that night, one scene after another flitted and faded.  She saw Mrs. Lawrence, glittering and supercilious, saw Peter, glowing and gay, saw the butler, with his attempt to be rude, and the little daughter of the house, tossing about in the luxurious pillows of her big bed.  She thought of Lydia Lord’s worn gloves, fumbling in her purse for money, of Mary Lord, so gratefully eating melting ice-cream from a pink saucer, with a silver souvenir spoon!

Two different worlds, and she, Susan, torn between them!  How far she was from Peter’s world, she felt that she had never realized until to-night.  How little gifts and pleasures signified from a man whose life was crowded with nothing else!  How helpless she was, standing by while his life whirled him further and further away from the dull groove in which her own feet were set!

Yet Susan’s evening had not been without its little cause for satisfaction.  She had treated Peter coolly, with dignity, with reserve, and she had seen it not only spur him to a sudden eagerness to prove his claim to her friendship, but also have its effect upon his hostess.  This was the clue, at last.

“If ever I have another chance,” decided Susan, “he won’t have such easy sailing!  He will have to work for my friendship as if I were the heiress, and he a clerk in Front Office.”

August was the happiest month Susan had ever known, September even better, and by October everybody at Mrs. Lancaster’s boarding-house was confidently awaiting the news of Susan Brown’s engagement to the rich Mr. Peter Coleman.  Susan herself was fairly dazed with joy.  She felt herself the most extraordinarily fortunate girl in the world.