“Dear little girls, have patience with me,” implored Max.  “If you knew what it cost me to keep a straight face in Halifax you would forgive me for breaking out now.”

“We forgive you—­but for pity’s sake tell us all about it,” I cried.

“Well, as soon as I arrived in Halifax I hurried to 110 Hollis Street, but—­see here!  Didn’t you tell me your Aunt’s address was 10 Pleasant Street?”

“So it is.”

“’T isn’t.  You look at the address on a telegram next time you get one.  She went a week ago to visit another friend who lives at 110 Hollis.”

“Max!”

“It’s a fact.  I rang the bell, and was just going to ask the maid for ‘Persian’ when your Aunt Cynthia herself came through the hall and pounced on me.”

“‘Max,’ she said, ‘have you brought Fatima?’

“‘No,’ I answered, trying to adjust my wits to this new development as she towed me into the library.  ’No, I—­I—­just came to Halifax on a little matter of business.’

“‘Dear me,’ said Aunt Cynthia, crossly, ’I don’t know what those girls mean.  I wired them to send Fatima at once.  And she has not come yet and I am expecting a call every minute from some one who wants to buy her.’

“‘Oh!’ I murmured, mining deeper every minute.

“‘Yes,’ went on your aunt, ’there is an advertisement in the Charlottetown Enterprise for a Persian cat, and I answered it.  Fatima is really quite a charge, you know—­and so apt to die and be a dead loss,’—­did your aunt mean a pun, girls?—­’and so, although I am considerably attached to her, I have decided to part with her.’

“By this time I had got my second wind, and I promptly decided that a judicious mixture of the truth was the thing required.

“‘Well, of all the curious coincidences,’ I exclaimed.  ’Why, Miss Ridley, it was I who advertised for a Persian cat—­on Sue’s behalf.  She and Ismay have decided that they want a cat like Fatima for themselves.’

“You should have seen how she beamed.  She said she knew you always really liked cats, only you would never own up to it.  We clinched the dicker then and there.  I passed her over your hundred and ten dollars—­she took the money without turning a hair—­and now you are the joint owners of Fatima.  Good luck to your bargain!”

“Mean old thing,” sniffed Ismay.  She meant Aunt Cynthia, and, remembering our shabby furs, I didn’t disagree with her.

“But there is no Fatima,” I said, dubiously.  “How shall we account for her when Aunt Cynthia comes home?”

“Well, your aunt isn’t coming home for a month yet.  When she comes you will have to tell her that the cat—­is lost—­but you needn’t say when it happened.  As for the rest, Fatima is your property now, so Aunt Cynthia can’t grumble.  But she will have a poorer opinion than ever of your fitness to run a house alone.”

When Max left I went to the window to watch him down the path.  He was really a handsome fellow, and I was proud of him.  At the gate he turned to wave me good-by, and, as he did, he glanced upward.  Even at that distance I saw the look of amazement on his face.  Then he came bolting back.