the various
house-parties that had frolicked under the hospitable rooftree of the
fine old mansion. She knew that they had travelled abroad, and had had
all sorts of delightful and unusual experiences. Now something else fine
and unusual was about to happen, and Betty had offered to share a
secret with her. A little shiver of pleasure passed over her at the
thought. This was so delightfully intimate and confidential, almost like
taking one of those "little journeys to the homes of famous people."

As Betty turned the page, Dora felt with another thrill that that was
the hand which had written the poem on "Friendship," which all the girls
had raved over. She herself knew it by heart, and she knew of at least
six copies which, cut from the school magazine in which it had been
published, were stuck in the frames of as many mirrors.

And that was the hand that had written the junior class song and the
play that the juniors gave on Valentine night. If reports were true that
was also the hand which would write the valedictory next year, and which
was now secretly at work upon a book which would some day place its
owner in the ranks with George Eliot and Thackeray.

While she still gazed in a sort of fascination at the daintily manicured
pink-tipped fingers, Betty looked up with a radiant face. "Now I'll read
it aloud," she said. "It will take several readings to make me realize
that such a lovely time is actually in store for us. It's from
godmother," she explained.

"DEAR ELIZABETH:--As I cannot be sure just when
this will reach Warwick Hall, I am sending the
enclosed letter to Lloyd in your care. A little
package for her birthday has already gone on to
her by express, but as this bit of news will give
her more pleasure than any gift, I want her to
receive it also on her birthday. I have just
completed arrangements for a second house-party, a
duplicate of the one she had six years ago, when
she was eleven. I have bidden to it the same
guests which came to the first one, you and
Eugenia Forbes and Joyce Ware, but Eugenia will
come as a bride this time. I have persuaded her to
have her wedding here at Locust, among her only
kindred, instead of in New York, where she and her
father have no home ties. It will be a rose
wedding, the last of June. The bride