Mrs. Adams stood back, watching the group of bright-colored gowns
and eager faces, as the young people gathered more closely about
the tub to see the fate of their lights, now exclaiming in chorus
at some crisis, now in anxious silence while they waited for new
developments.

"My light has failed, first of all," said Katharine regretfully.

"Which is it?" asked Mrs. Adams.

"The pink one."

"That is the man," she answered, bending over to look at the poor
little end of candle, with only a smouldering wick to show that
any life was left.

"It may come up again, Kit," said Florence consolingly. "While
there's life, there's hope."

"They are alive as long as they float," Mrs. Adams interpreted.
"When they sink, they are dead; but this one is only ill, or else
his plans have failed."

"That's almost as bad," said Jean. "But isn't this just like
Florence? Her two have cuddled up side by side, and are blazing
away in a corner, all by themselves." "Look at Polly's and mine,"
said Molly. "We have joined hands. We must be going to live
together, all four of us."

"In a New York tenement house," suggested Alan unkindly.