During the few steps down the stairs and back to the dining room no one spoke. At the door Vera relieved her pent-up feelings by softly exclaiming: “Stung!” bringing one small hand down smartly upon the other. The unaccustomed slang from dainty Midget cleared the snubbed P. G.’s cloudy atmosphere with a soft chorus of giggles.

Miss Remson listened to Kathie’s account of their defeated errand with “Hum!” “Why, the idea!” and “Too bad!” Kathie had not said a word to Miss Monroe save to acknowledge the introduction Marjorie made and “Good-night.” She now simply repeated the conversation as nearly as she could, placing no unfavorable stress on Miss Monroe’s rude reception of the quintette.

“The way Kathie has told you about our call is the way we are all trying to feel about it,” Marjorie said earnestly. “As good P. G.’s we must overlook more than ever what we may think is out of place. Miss Monroe isn’t used to American girls, I suppose. Perhaps she thinks we are too eager, or that we haven’t elegant repose, or——” She glanced inquiringly at her friends: “I don’t know what she thinks.”

“Let me say it for the rest of you. I have known a few like this girl in England, but none so pretty. She will be pleasant? Ah, yes; but who knows when?” Leila flashed a canny smile. “She did not ache to know us tonight. Her taste will not have improved by tomorrow; nor for many a long day.”

“Never mind; we’re not sensitive plants,” was Marjorie’s light assurance. “Our haughty, fairy-tale princess may change her mind about us later.” Marjorie made light of the snub in order to soothe Miss Remson’s wounded pride at the rudeness offered her favorite students. “Maybe she is so upset over having to come to America to college, when she doesn’t wish to, that she can’t be very cordial to any one.”

“Good little Lieutenant, you keep the first tradition better than I.” Leila dropped a fond arm over Marjorie’s shoulder.

“Certainly, I don’t, silly.” Marjorie’s energetically protesting tones suddenly ceased.

Silvery and sweet on the scented night air came the chimes’ familiar prelude. Followed the stroke of eleven, clear, solemn, individual in tone. To Marjorie it was as though her second Hamilton friend had come to say a soothing good-night to her after a “trying hike.” While she had kept on a strictly even keel during the short call on Miss Monroe she had secretly winced at the other girl’s insolent reception of her and her chums.

While the chimes sang away the hurt she sat listening to them and trying to clear her brain of all ungenerous thoughts. Her face burned as she recalled the steady way in which Miss Monroe had looked at her. She understood the reason. While Marjorie was absolutely without vanity, she could not pretend that she did not know her own claim to beauty. For four years she had been hailed frankly at Hamilton as the college beauty. Far from flattered, she ducked the title whenever she could. Always in her mind lived the quaint charge delivered by the judge at the beauty contest which she had won during her freshman year.

“Brede ye, therefore, sweet maid, no vanitye of the mind, but say ye raythere, at even, a prayer of thankfulnesse for the gifte of Beauty by the Grace of God.”

Strangely enough the ancient sentiment had popped into her mind at sight of beautiful, golden-haired Miss Monroe. With it had come a kindly plan of her own. She promised herself that she would put it into action as soon as she came back to Hamilton in the fall.

As a result of Miss Hamilton’s energetic effort on behalf of Page and Dean, the willing firm found themselves more willing to work than overcrowded with it. More the secretive old lady ordered Marjorie and Robin to do nothing but have a good time with their chums for the next three days and not dare to come near the Arms or even call her on the telephone. Her emphatic message to them was:

“Come to the Arms to seven o’clock dinner, all of you, next Sunday evening. That means be at the Arms by three in the afternoon. Perhaps you may hear something to your interest.”

Robin and Marjorie had not yet been nearer the cherished site than the point on Hamilton Highway from which they had viewed it on the day of their arrival on the campus. They delicately refrained from examining the work at close range until they had talked with Miss Susanna and received her sanction.

“We can well afford this layoff,” Robin had blithely declared to Marjorie. “Thanks to Miss Susanna we’re miles farther ahead with this work than we dreamed of being.” Marjorie patiently agreed with her though the two laughed as each read the longing for action in the other’s face. The promoters were brimming with the buoyant impulse of youth. They yearned to get directly in touch with the big doings on the newly purchased property. Absolute belief that Miss Susanna had done better for the enterprise than they could have done had served to put a loyal curb on their natural impatience.

Meanwhile the five Travelers were deriving untold satisfaction from their reunion. Kathie’s mornings and early afternoons were occupied in coaching her aspiring freshmen. She could always be counted upon for late afternoon and evening. Leila and Vera had nothing to do save please their chums, incidentally pleasing themselves. Marjorie and Robin talked importantly about being “laid-off” and took occasion to make the most of it.

Sunday afternoon saw them leaving the campus in Vera’s car, radiant with health and good looks, which their delicate summer finery intensified. A “bid” to the Arms was always a red letter occasion. They were bubbling with light-hearted satisfaction. Miss Susanna, seated in a high-backed rocker on the ivy-decked veranda, appeared to catch the spirit of their gaiety. She got up from her chair and waved a book she had been reading in energetic salute as the roadster rolled up the drive. She was wearing a soft white silk dress, turned in a little at the neck and fastened with a priceless cameo pin, oval and set with a double row of pearls and rubies.

“Now doesn’t she look like the pleased old child?” Leila murmured to Marjorie as they left the car.

Marjorie had time only for a quick nod. She quite agreed with Leila. The touch of grimness usually present on Miss Hamilton’s face had given place to a childishly happy look which was good to see.

No one of the five Travelers were ever likely to forget that particular afternoon chiefly because of the peculiarly charming “youngness” of spirit exhibited by Miss Susanna. It fascinated them all. It was as though she had gone back over the years to girlhood.

They spent the afternoon out of doors, at first roving about the magnificent breadth of lawn with their vivacious guide. She had plenty of interesting bits of the history of the Hamiltons to relate, called to mind at sight of a particular tree, shrub or nook of special vernal or floral beauty.

Later, they gathered in a quaint Chinese pagoda set in the midst of a group of graceful larches. There Jonas brought them tea and sweet crackers, all Miss Susanna would allow them to have on account of the approaching dinner hour. While they sipped the finest Chinese tea and nibbled crackers she told them of how Prince Tuan Chi, a Chinese noble and a friend of Brooke Hamilton, and her great uncle had themselves built the pagoda during a summer the young Chinese lord had spent at Hamilton Arms.

“All that happened before my time,” Miss Susanna concluded with a sigh. There was a far-away gleam in her bright dark eyes. “Uncle Brooke used to tell me such tales when he and I took our walks about the Arms. Sometimes he would choose to walk with Jonas instead of me. Jonas was like a younger brother to him. How hurt I used to feel,” she declared with a smile of self-mockery.

Thus far she had made no mention of the topic dear to Robin and Marjorie. Each time she spoke, in her crisp enunciation they pricked up mental ears. Each time they were doomed to vague disappointment. Still they could not fail to treasure every word she related concerning their idol, Brooke Hamilton.

“What time is it, Marjorie?” Miss Susanna finally asked. She cast a glance at the sun making its leisurely descent down the western sky. “My guess is—let me see—ten minutes past five.”

“It’s seven after. I should say you can guess time!” Robin opened surprised eyes. “Beg your pardon, Marjorie,” she apologized. “I know you’re not dumb.”

“Considering you are Page and I am Dean, I’ll forgive you,” Marjorie assumed an important air. “Aren’t the firm of Page and Dean one?”

“They are,” Robin replied solemnly as though taking a vow.

“Which reminds me,” broke in Miss Susanna, “that I have some business to transact with this distinguished firm, even if it is Sunday.” There was a suggestion of eager stir in her announcement.

Marjorie felt an all but irresistible desire to ejaculate “Ha-a-a!” in one long relieved breath. It was coming at last. Robin wished she dared steal one glance at Marjorie. Instead she sat very still, a faint-breathing figure of expectation. Leila, Vera and Katherine watched Page and Dean and smiled. They, and they alone, knew how great had been the suspense of the promoters. Leila, ever full of fancy and mysticism wondered imaginatively if, somewhere in a world of light beyond the stars, Brooke Hamilton lived and watched with approval the carrying on of his beloved work.