a nun, masquerading, in that gray crepe de Chine, I almost
forgot the accompaniment. Why, Mr. Foster! How delightful you were able to
get home for Christmas."

"I am fortunate," he answered, smiling. "The ice caught me in the Yukon,
but I mushed through to Fairbanks and came on to the coast by stage. I
just made the steamer, and she docked alongside the _Aquila_ not fifteen
minutes before she sailed. Mr. Morganstein brought me along to hear my
report."

"I guess we are all glad to have you home for Christmas," said Elizabeth.

She moved on with her sister to meet the other guests who were trooping
into the hall, and Foster found himself taking Mrs. Weatherbee's hand. His
own shook a little, and suddenly he was unable to say any of the friendly,
solicitous things he had found it so easy to express to these other
people, after his long absence; only his young eyes, searching her face
for any traces of care or anxiety the season may have left, spoke
eloquently. Afterwards, when the greetings were over, and the women
trailed away to their rooms, he saw he had forgotten to give her a package
which he had carried up from the _Aquila_, and hurried to overtake her at
the foot of the stairs.

"It was brought down by messenger from Vivian Court for you," he
explained, "just as we were casting off, and I took charge of it. There is
a letter, you see, which the clerk has tucked under the string."

The package was a florist's carton, wide and deep, with the name Hollywood
Gardens printed across the violet cover, but the letter was postmarked
Washington, D.C. "Violets!" she exclaimed softly, "'when violet time is
gone.'"

Her whole lithe body seemed to emanate a subdued pleasure, and settling
the box, unopened, in the curve of her arm, she started up the staircase.
Foster, looking up, caught the glance she remembered to send from the
gallery railing. Her smile was radiant.

She did not turn on the electric switch when she closed her door; the
primrose walls reflected the light from the great plate-glass window, with
the effect of candle glow. She put the box on a table near the casement
and laid the letter aside to lift the lid. The perfume of violets rose in
her face like liberated incense. The box was filled with them; bunches on
bunches. She bent her cheek to feel the cool touch of them; inhaled their
fragrance with deep, satisfying breaths. Presently she found the florist's
envelope and in it Tisdale's card. And she read,