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"Don't make a show of me, Miss Pat," she commanded reproachfully. "It isn't correct to show that you are so delighted." Patricia turned with a gasp of delight. "Bruce!" she cried delightedly. "You dear thing! You've come in the nick of time. Isn't it splendid that Elinor's won the prize? Did you hear about it? Aren't you perfectly crazy over it?" "But how do you know it isn't David's?" persisted Judith, as she gathered up her letters. "We never asked David when his birthday came, did we?".

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"Business connected with the devil-stick and Isabella." "Bah! you black parrot!" muttered Maurice scornfully and turned upon his heel. As he vanished down the walk Dido clapped her hands together with great satisfaction and began to sing in low tones. Her song was barbaric in words and strange beyond all telling in the music. It rose and fell, and moaned and drawled, in a curiously painful manner. In the drawing-room Mrs. Dallas had risen to her feet at the first deep contralto note, and now stood rocking herself to and fro with an expression of alarm on her face. Isabella was terrified in her turn by Dido's song and her mother's strange conduct, though by this time she should have been used to these eccentricities. "The devil-stick!" gasped Jen, pointing a shaking finger at the wall. "The devil-stick!" Patricia held out her hand across the cloth. "I can't kiss you, but here's the substitute. You're a duck, Bruce Haydon. Where is the studio?".