wanted to do honor to
the Blairs--to justify the hopes of Mamma. This was not enough of an
occasion for the white mull. The silks look hot and citified. Hesitantly
she selected the apricot organdie with a deeper-shaded sash; it was
simple for all its glowing color, though the short frilled sleeves
struck her as perhaps too chic. It had been a copy of one of Lucia's
frocks, that one bought to such advantage of Madame Revenant.

With it went a golden-strawed hat--but Maria Angelina was uncertain
about the hat.

Did you wear one at a hotel--when you lived at a hotel? Mamma's
admonitions did not cover that. She put the hat on; she took the hat
off. She rather liked it on--but she dropped it on the bed at Ruth's
sudden knock and felt a sense of escape for Ruth was hatless.

And Ruth still wore the same short white skirt and white blouse, open at
the throat, in which she had greeted them. . . . Was the apricot too
much then of a toilette? Ruth's eyes were frankly on it; her expression
was odd.

But Mrs. Blair had changed. She appeared now in blue linen, very smart
and trim.

Worriedly Maria Angelina's dark eyes went from one to the other.

"Is this--is this what I should wear?" she asked timidly. "Am I not--as
you wish?"

It would have taken a hard heart to wish her otherwise.

"It's very pretty," said Cousin Jane in quick reassurance.

"Too pretty, s'all," said Cousin Ruth. "But it won't be wasted. . . .
Bobby Martin is staying to luncheon," she flung casually at her parents.
"Has a guest with him. You remember Johnny Byrd."

American freedom, indeed! thought Maria Angelina following down the
slippery stairs into the wide hall below where, in a boulder fireplace
that was surmounted by a stag's head, a small blaze was flickering
despite the warmth of the day.

Wasteful, thought Maria Angelina reprovingly. One could see that the
Americans had never suffered for fuel. . . .

Upon a huge, black fur rug before the fire two young men were waiting.

Demurely Maria thought of the letter she would write home that
night--one young man the first evening in New York, two young men the
first luncheon at the Lodge. Decidedly, America brimmed with young men!

Meanwhile, Ruth was presenting them. The big dark youth, heavy and lazy
moving, was the Signor Bob Martin.

The other, Johnny Byrd, was shorter and broad of shoulder; he had
reddish blonde hair slightly parted and brushed straight back; he had a
short nose with fre