bert until to-morrow
morning. It will be too late for your long ride home after our seven
o'clock dinner. Then hurry back. I begrudge every minute you are gone."

Joyce sped gaily away, and returned minus her hat and furs.

"I left them in the hall," she explained, as Dorette looked up
questioningly, having just re-entered. "Are you glad I'm to stay, Dodo?
Do give me some sewing now, Dorey, just in the old way. Is there nothing
to do for baby?"

"Nothing! Indeed you'd think there was something, to see the way she
goes through her clothing. She's a perfect terror, Joyce! Well, take
this bit of a yoke--can you hemstitch as neatly as ever?"

"Try me; I don't know. Ellen does everything now."

"You have a maid?"

"Oh yes, I could not live alone. But Ellen is scarcely that. She is too
staid, too old and respectable. She is my companion, rather."

"And you are still in that great hotel?"

"Yes, our rooms were taken for a year, and the time is not up for some
months yet, so it seemed best. And we are quite independent there. We
live as quietly in our suite of rooms as if we were in a separate flat.
And our places at table are reserved in a far corner of the great salon,
so that by timing ourselves we avoid the crowd, and we do not become
conspicuous."

"Yes, I understand. One can live much as one elects to anywhere," said
Madame Bonnivel, caressing little Dodo as the child leaned against her.

"I don't know," laughed Joyce. "There have been times when we didn't
think so--did we, Dorette? Oh, it is so good--so good to be here!"

Over their needle-work the talk ran on, largely reminiscent in
character, and mostly in a joyous strain. The young matron, Mrs.
Larrimer Driscoll, was evidently no ready talker, but her interest was
so vivid that she was a constant incitement to Joyce, who seemed to have
broken bounds, and was by turns grave and gay, imperious and pleading in
a succession of moods as natural as a child's and almost as little
controlled. Presently she who has been referred to as Dodo's auntie,
Miss Camille Bonnivel, entered and, after one swift look at the guest,
who stood smilingly awaiting the outbreak of her astonishment, threw up
both hands and flew across the room.

"Joyce!" she cried, "Joyce Lavillotte! So the proud heiress of a hundred
acres--mostly marsh-land, but no matter!--has condescended to our low
estate. Shall I go down on one knee, or two?"

"On four, if you have them, you gypsy! Come, kiss