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"We'll find out tomorrow night," said Patricia, readily. "And now that the costumes are all done, tomorrow night can't come too soon for me." "Well, no, major, I can't say that he was. In fact," added Etwald, with the air of a man making a simple statement, "I hated him!" "It couldn't be Griffin," said Patricia earnestly. "She was too disgusted with it.".

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"I'm a horrid pig to forget," she whispered contritely. "Don't be cross, Frad dear; you know how sorry I am." Here she waited in the shadow of the fluttering violet arc light, with her eyes fastened to the silent, insensible windows. Ten minutes that seemed ten eternities went lagging by. Tears of disappointment rose to Patricia's eyes and she shivered as the gusts of west wind flung the drops from the saturated trees in a silver shower across the darkened panes. Miriam Halden, Mr. Hilton, Griffin, Margaret Howes, Herbert Lester and David—officially known as Francis Edward, but particularly recognized by his twin as Frad—all sat at the same rose-decked table with Patricia, and, as Griffin put it, they made the other tables look "like thirty cents in pennies." The candle light sparkled on laughing eyes and white teeth, and ripples of merriment enlivened every mouthful of the savory dishes that Dufranne's dignified François, aided by the radiant Henry, served continuously. The door clicked behind them and they set their faces to the sunset, and Greycroft, and home..