mischievous little year-old Patricia, "as beautiful as her father and as
bad as her naughty Uncle Phil," Eugenia had written, in her letter of
invitation.

And Phil himself would be there,--_maybe_. He was trying to get his work
in shape so that he could be home at Christmas time. Mary did not
realize how much her anticipations of this visit were tinged by the glow
of that maybe. Her thoughts ran ahead to that day at Eugenia's oftener
than to any other part of the grand outing. There was to be a whole week
of sight-seeing in New York sandwiched in between the cozy hours at home
with Joyce in her studio, and then on the roundabout way back to school
a stop-over at Annapolis, for a few hours with Holland.

Filled with such an ineffable spirit of content that she would not have
exchanged places with any one in the whole world, she watched the last
'bus load drive away, waving their handkerchiefs all down the avenue,
and singing:

"O Warwick Hall, dear Warwick Hall,
The joys of Yule now homeward call.
Yet still we'll keep the tryst with you,
Though for a time we say adieu.
Adieu! Adieu!"

[Illustration: "THE GIRLISH FIGURE ENVELOPED IN A LONG LOOSE WORKING
APRON."]