"OOO-OOH Oo-ooh Nita " called Suzanne Baker, as she skipped across the small square of green grass that individualised the brownstone house where Anita Brampton lived. No answer came, so Zan-as she was always called for short-impatiently repeated the call, adding after a moment's pause, "Where are you-come on out " Still no reply, but the pretty face of Mrs. Brampton appeared at the glass door inside the vestibule. She smiled as she recognised the caller and nodded for her to come in. Zan ran up the steps and said, "How'd do, Mrs. Brampton-where's Nita?" "Looking for you, most likely," laughed the lady of the house. Then, as her smile changed to a petulant look with the changing of her thought, she added, "Dear me Nita is a sore trial. Did you ever know her to accomplish anything without confusion to others?" Zan knew from experience that that aggrieved tone meant a long harangue on Nita's shortcomings, so she hurriedly changed the subject. "Well, as long as Nita isn't here I guess I'll run along to Miss Miller's. They'll all be there waiting, I s'pose." "All right, dearie; I have a little bridge party in the library, or I would give more time to you," replied Mrs. Brampton, daintily patting down a few stray wisps of blonde hair that fluttered in the breeze from the open door. "Oh, I'm in a great hurry, anyway," returned Zan, starting out of the doorway.