would any one to whom.
Paris had been home, and New York a foreign city. Not that I had
ever thought of Paris as my real home; home was, where my heart
was--with Dad. I tried to make him understand how, happy I was to be
with him, how I had missed him, and California.

"So you missed your old father; did you, girlie?"

"Yes, Dad."

"And you'll be glad to go to California?"

"Oh, so glad!"

"Then," said Dad, "we'll start tomorrow."

Our rooms at the hotel were perfect; there was a bed room and bath
for me a bed room and bath for Dad, with a sitting room between, all
facing the Park. And there were roses everywhere; huge American
Beauties, dear, wee, pink roses, roses of flaming red. I turned to
Dad, who was standing in the middle of the sitting room, beaming at
me. "You delightful old spendthrift!" I cried. "What do you mean by
buying millions of roses? And in the middle of January too! You
deserve to be disciplined, and you shall be."

"Discipline is an excellent thing; even if it does disturb the set
of one's tie," Dad remarked thoughtfully, a moment later.

"I couldn't help hugging you, Daddy."

"My dear, that hug of yours was the sweetest thing that has happened
to your dad in many a long year."

And then, of course, I had to hug him again.

After luncheon (we had it in our sitting room) Dad asked if I would
enjoy a drive through the Park.

"I should enjoy it immensely," I said, "but I can't possibly go."

You see, there was a trunk to unpack, the one holding my prettiest
dinner gown. Of course Valentine was quite capable of attending to
the unpacking. Still, one likes to inspect everything one is to
wear, especially when one is expecting a guest to dinner. "Then,"
said Dad, "I think I'll order dinner, and go for a walk, shall we
have dinner here?"

"Oh, by all means! This is so much more homelike than a public
dining room."

"I'll not be gone more than an hour or two... Hullo! Come in."

A small boy entered, carrying a box quite as big as himself. "For
Miss Middleton," he said.

"Another present from you, Dad?"

"Open it, my dear."

"I thought so," he remarked, as the removal of the cover displayed
more American Beauties. (There were five dozen;) I counted them
after Dad had gone. Another million roses and in the middle of
January! "Who's the spendthrift this time, Elizabeth?"

"His name," I said, slipping a card: from the envelope that lay on a
huge bow of red ribbon, "is Mr. Blakely Po