from the wings on the traditional broomstick!  From that moment until the final transformation scene, when scintillating sea-shells yielded up one by one their dazzling burdens of female loveliness and a rather Hebraic Cupid descended from an invisible wire to wish everybody a happy New-Year in words appropriately rhymed, there was no halt to the wonders disclosed.  With what sharp and exquisite reluctance did Claire remain glued to her seat, refusing to believe that it was all over!  Even at this late date Claire had only to close her eyes to revive the delights of these rather covert excursions into the realm of fancy—­covert, because a Tivoli pantomime had not precisely the sanction of such a respectable organization as the Second Presbyterian Church.  Mrs. Robson, while not definitely encouraging Claire to wilful dishonesty, always managed to warn her daughter by saying: 

“I wouldn’t tell any one about going to the Tivoli, Claire, if I were you ... unless, of course, they should ask about it.”

Claire, in mortal terror lest any indiscretion on her part would put a stop to this annual lapse into such delightful immoralities, held her peace in spite of her desire to spread abroad the beauties which she had beheld.  She had a feeling that all the participants in the pantomime must of necessity be rather wicked and abandoned creatures, and half the pleasure she had felt in viewing them arose from a secret admiration at the courage which permitted human beings to be so perfectly and desperately sinful.  Although she was almost persuaded that perhaps it did not take quite such bravado to be wicked in blue-spangled gauze and satin slippers as it did to lapse from the straight and narrow path in a gingham dress and resoled boots.

The only thrill that the present Christmas Day produced came in the shape of a pot of flaming poinsettias bearing the card of Ned Stillman.  These were the first flowers that Claire ever remembered having received.  It pleased her also to realize that Stillman had been delicate to the point of this thoroughly unpractical gift, especially as he had every reason to assume that something more substantial would have been acceptable.  She was confident that by this time he had heard through Mrs. Condor of her mother’s illness and her loss of position.  Claire was still puzzled at Mrs. Condor’s visit.  For all that lady’s skill at subterfuge, there were implied evasions in her manner which Claire sensed instinctively.  And then Claire was not yet inured to the novelty of being in demand.  To have been forced by circumstance upon Mrs. Condor as an accompanist was one thing; to be desired by her in a moment of cold calculation was quite another; and there had been more uncertainty than caution in Claire’s plea for time in which to consider the offer.  But as the days flew by it became more and more apparent to Claire that she was in no position to indulge in idle speculation.  She had long since given up