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The week that followed flew on winged feet. The costumes, simple enough at first, grew in detail with every day and absorbed so much of their spare time that Patricia frankly gave up any thought of work and yielded herself to the enjoyment of Miss Jinny and the day's pleasure without any effort at serious work.,"What!" cried his guardian, rising. "Do you dare to sit there and tell me that you are a traitor, a coward, and an ungrateful man?","So am I," rejoined Maurice, promptly. "All the same, you can hardly expect me to give up to David the girl I love, and who loves me. But why does Mrs. Dallas support David's suit?",He held up his finger.,"Well, we're turning another page of our lives," he said with a backward glance at the rooms where they had been so busy and so happy. "Who can say what will be written there?",Elinor gave her a reassuring squeeze. "Don't be afraid, Miss Pat. I won't give away your dark secrets to anyone till you want me to. You'll tell David, won't you?",Judith cocked her blond head thoughtfully.,"I don't think this is very nice," she whispered as Bruce was exchanging a few words with the smiling proprietor in the little cage behind the tiny counter.,"I'll be bound for you, Elinor Kendall, to find the sweetness in every sour apple. Not that your Doris Leighton is sour on the outside. She's much too sweet for my taste. I don't trust them when they're so unearthly sweet.",All about the spacious hall were groups of Arabians, of fair Circassians, of dusky Nubians and turbaned Turks, while the rustle of costly fabrics and the odor of heavy Eastern perfumes floated in the air; the modern city outside in the wintry electric lights was well forgot in the enchantment of the moment, and Patricia lost count of time and sense of self in the pageant that swept across the lofty chamber to make its obeisance at the imperial divan.,"Literary grandmother!" exclaimed Patricia scornfully. "She's a conceited chicken that thinks she's a nightingale because she can peep louder than some. Wait till you've had some of your stuff printed, Judy, before you boast. Anyone can scribble——","Dying!" cried Patricia, aghast. "Why they said she was better this morning.".