light of day. Hopping on one foot by way of waking up exercises, she
crossed to the dressing-table, dabbed a brush at her touseled hair, then
concealed it under a fluffy boudoir cap. She paused to innocently admire
her reflection in the silver rimmed mirror, turning her head from side
to side, the better to observe the lace frills and twisted ribbons of
her coiffe. Breakfast arrived, steaming on its little white and chintz
tray, and Dorothy smacked hungry lips.

"Oo--oo--how perfectly lovely--crumpets! and scrambled eggs! I'm
starved!" She settled herself, eagerly cooing over the fragrant coffee.
"Now, if only Mother were here," she exclaimed. "It's so lonely
breakfasting without her!"

But her loneliness was not for long. An avalanche of Aunt Lydia entered
the room, quite filling it with her fluttering presence. Tante Lydia's
morning cap was quite as youthful as that of her niece, her flowered
wrapper as belaced and befurbelowed as the lingière could make it, and
her high heeled mules were at least two sizes too small, and slapped as
she walked.

"My dear," she bubbled girlishly, thrusting a stray lock of questionable
gold beneath her cap, "I thought I'd just run in and sit with you. I've
had my breakfast ages ago--indeed, yes--and seen the housekeeper, and
ordered everything. It was shockingly late when we got in last night, my
dear. I really hadn't a notion it was after three, till you came after
me into the conservatory. That _was_ a delightful affair last night, I
must say, even if Mrs. May _is_ so loud. She isn't stingy in the way she
entertains, like Mrs. Best's, where we were Wednesday. That was
positively a shabby business. Now, dear, what do we do to-day? I've just
looked over my calendar, and I want to see yours. Really, we are so