In all this time Betty had not seen, except casually, Lucia, who had said that she had something to tell her. Both had been in a rush the next time they met and Lucia said that she would postpone what she wanted to talk about. Betty wondered if it were anything important, particularly if it had anything to do with Lucia’s personal problems. From Lucia’s manner, she imagined that it had. Lucia’s life always commanded Betty’s interest. It was so “different.”

The paper had a long account of festivities at the Murchison mansion during the Thanksgiving vacation. Lucia would be busy with all the entertaining, though their guests at the house and at the various little parties seemed to be adults.

The girls were busy that first Monday morning, but on arriving at the home room and running to and from the lockers Lucia and Betty exchanged greetings and Lucia said, “Please be my guest at lunch today, Betty. We go to first lunch, I believe, and it ought to be good, though I suppose you are as fed up on turkey and stuff as I am.”

“Yes,” brightly returned Betty—“turkey and stuffing. But I’d never get tired of it and I doubt if we have it this noon.”

“No, of course not. I mean that appetite might not be all that it sometimes is.”

“Watch me,” laughed Betty. “I may not want much, but by noon I’m always ready to feed the ‘inner man.’ And thank you, but I think I’d better be my own guest.”

“Please, Betty,” Lucia persuaded. “I’ve a plan.”

“Good. I’ll love to hear it. And I want to talk to you about joining the Lyon ‘Y.’ Did you know that they made me president of it? We want to have a membership campaign and make it a big group. Please think about joining it, won’t you?”

“Why yes, I might, if it isn’t too much work. What do they do? I’ve never paid much attention to it.”

Betty explained, as they sat down in the home room to wait for the bell that called them to order. She told about their meetings, referring to the time she had been at the camp, and described their preparing and delivering the Thanksgiving baskets.

Lucia looked interested and asked Betty why she had not asked her to help with the gifts. “I could have done something as well as not,” she said.

“There’s plenty of time to do something,” Betty told her. “We’re going to dress dolls for Christmas and, I imagine, fill a basket again. How would you like to dress a doll?”

Lucia smiled at that. “I’ve never dressed a doll in my life,” said she, “but I’ll buy one and have it dressed. That would be fun. I’ll tell you what we’ll do. I asked Mother if I might have you for a week-end some time, and we’ll see to it then—if you’ll come. Will you?”

“Of course I will!”

“That was what I wanted to plan at Thanksgiving, but I found that I could not, on account of all Mother had on hand. I have a few worries to talk over with you, if you don’t mind, and I’ll get one of the maids to do most of the sewing. Do you know about doll patterns and things like that?”

“I think so; enough, anyhow.”

“Perhaps we could have a meeting of the girls at our house and everybody dress dolls together.”

“That will be wonderful, Lucia! You will join us, then?”

“Yes, Betty. I’m a Lyon ‘Y’ forever, always provided I don’t have to do too much.”

“I’m not worried about that, Lucia. You see, it doesn’t take much time for meetings. We just try to live up to a few ideals, and hear good talks, and have fun, and do a little sometimes for poor people.”

“Living up to the ideals will be the worst for me, I’m sure,” laughed Lucia. But the last gong rang and the girls were obliged to take their own seats, Betty thinking as she often did, how soon Lucia had slipped into the ways and spirit of the other girls. She was different, too; yet considering how very unlike the life of American girls Lucia’s had been, it showed “great adaptability,” as Mrs. Lee had called it, for her to enter into the school life as she had.

The time between Thanksgiving and Christmas flew as it always does. Betty found that it was not such a task to be a president as she had thought. The other officers and committees took an interest and programs were easy to plan with all the people they knew who could talk to them or “do things.” The leader from the “Y. W.” and Miss Street, the leader of the group, were behind them and had ideas. The membership drive was inaugurated and went over well. The girls were interested in the doll dressing and when Lucia invited the entire group to meet at “her house” one Saturday afternoon, there were several more members at once. Mathilde Finn and “her crowd,” as Carolyn put it, joined at once.

“Finny,” said Dotty Bradshaw, “will not be much good to us, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, yes she will,” answered Selma Rardon. “She’ll copy Lucia, and it will do her good to be in it, Finny, I mean.”

“It does all of us good, Selma,” said the young president, “and I think it is wonderful of Lucia to think of the very thing she can do to help us most right now.”

In consequence of this plan, two weeks before Christmas or about that time, Betty found herself going home with Lucia on Friday afternoon. Her father had delivered her at school that morning with her over-night bag, which reposed in her locker all day. The Murchison car was waiting at the curb when the girls left the school grounds and Betty tried hard not to feel any importance as she entered it. It was rather pleasant to have Lucia choose her from all of her friends for the week-end. But she had been the first friend, after all.

Among the crowds of departing pupils, one of the senior girls said to Clara Lovel, “If Betty Lee hadn’t stuck herself in to be elected president of Lyon ‘Y,’ you would be going home with Lucia, Clara!”

But Marcella Waite, who happened to be with the girls, knew the folly of such a statement. “It isn’t just a Lyon ‘Y’ affair, Bess,” she said. “Betty’s going to stay the week-end. Her father is in the Murchison business and he and Betty met the boat the countess came in on at New York. Besides, Lucia doesn’t need any one to help her get ready to entertain. They have all the help they want, butler, maids and all the rest of it.”

“Well, you may be glad you aren’t in the group this year, Marcella,” said Clara, “with a junior for president!”

Of this interchange Betty was blissfully unconscious as she was whirled away in the same dark crimson or wine-colored car that Betty had first entered on the morning when she accompanied the countess and her daughter to school, at Lucia’s entrance there. Leaning back luxuriously in the soft seat, by Lucia, Betty dismissed all cares of school and lessons for the time being. It was all planned. She and Lucia would finish getting Monday’s lesson that night. On Saturday morning they would be driven down town for shopping and have lunch. They would get anything necessary for the afternoon’s meeting and return in time for the arrival of the girls.

After the meeting with the girls, who were to be served a lovely luncheon, Betty guessed from Lucia’s remarks, there would follow the visit with Lucia, till Monday morning took them to school again. What delights might develop Betty could only guess, but in that house a guest would not be neglected she knew.

Lucia was in fine spirits. No hint of any worries which she might have could have been gleaned from anything in her expression or conversation. They discussed the last school news and looked hastily through the copy, just out, of the school paper. The pictures of the football team were prominent with a snapshot of “Kentucky” on the shoulders of admiring rooters. Prominent seniors were being written up and this time Marcella Waite was the choice of the editors. Her picture was at the top of the page and below was a brief resume of Marcella’s character and activities.

“This is good,” said Lucia, close to Betty as they read the paper together, as well as they could for the motion of the car. “Marcella is the finest girl in the Kappa Upsilon sorority.”

“Don’t you like Peggy?” queried Betty.

“Oh, yes. Peggy’s all right, but Marcella is older and very fine.”

“I think so, too. I suspect that you see a good deal of Marcella, since you have been together in the sorority, you know.”

“Not so much. Sometimes Marcella scarcely has time for sorority meetings.”

So they chatted till they entered the grounds of the Murchison place, covered with snow now, the evergreens, heavy-laden, most beautiful to behold, and other great trees, tall and bare, outlined in black and white with the snow that clung to their branches. Betty became rather silent, while Lucia outlined plans and spoke happily of the fun that she hoped the girls would have with their sewing and visiting.

Betty was not accustomed to being admitted by a butler, but demurely followed Lucia up softly carpeted stairs to Lucia’s own room, where Lucia rang for her maid. Their wraps were first disposed of and Lucia followed Betty into the room which was to be hers for the short visit. “I thought at first,” said Lucia, “that I would rather have another bed put in my room, Betty, so that we could talk as long as we wanted to. My bed is one of twin beds and this is the other one. But then I’m used to sleeping alone, Mother reminded me; and she said that probably you were, too, and that we’d better do this way. I hope that you will like the room.”

“It is a lovely room!” enthusiastically cried Betty, though with her voice properly subdued. One could not imagine, Betty thought, that any one could come in talking as noisily as the Lee children occasionally found themselves doing in the sweet liberty of home. Still, their mother would hush too great a tumult, or their father would say quietly, “I’m not in Buxton, Dick. I can easily hear an ordinary tone!”

The maid unpacked Betty’s bag and asked if she should press the dress, confined in the bag all day. Knowing that the Murchison house was very warm, Betty had packed a thin chiffon dress, while wearing a dress to school, as well, that was a little better than common.

“That hangs out easily,” said Betty, “but it is just as Lucia says.”

“Press it then, Giovanna,” said Lucia, and the maid vanished with the frock.

The girls did a little temporary grooming, but Lucia said that they would just visit until time to dress for dinner. The dinner hour, she said, was any time from seven to eight o’clock, according to when Mr. Murchison came, or whether or not they had guests, or what ideas about it her mother had. The servants had learned to adjust themselves to some irregularity. “We have a good class of servants,” said Lucia, “and Uncle pays them well, which insures good service as a rule. Giovanna has been with me a long time and she is like a bit of home.”

“Does your maid like it here?”

“I don’t think so, though this year she seems more resigned and likes to go to the movies. I let her go evenings sometimes and get myself to bed.”

Betty wondered how it would seem to be waited on like that, but she was too busy with her new impressions to do much thinking. “If you are not too tired, Lucia, we might get out our Latin or mathematics together, since we are likely to have so much time before dinner.”

That seemed to be a good plan, but while they made some progress in the lessons, they did more talking, especially after Lucia hopped up to bring out a very beautiful doll, which was to be her contribution. Betty admired quite to Lucia’s satisfaction and Betty did not tell her that the dolls had been bought, alike, simple but pretty, and were to be variously dressed according to the taste of the girl who dressed them. At first she thought that she ought to give Lucia a hint, but she could not bear to spoil Lucia’s interest and she was afraid it would. Probably Lucia would not bring out the doll anyway until the rest were started and then she could use her own judgment. It would turn out all right. Betty was not one to worry unnecessarily.

The girls were still translating when Giovanna appeared to lay out their clothing for dinner. Each was soon occupied with bath and dressing. It was the second one for Betty that day, for she had not anticipated this one before dinner. She chuckled to herself in the tub and wondered how many Lucia took.

Rosy and fresh, she arrayed herself in clean garments and her best frock, hoping that she was “all right” for dinner. Giovanna was busy with Lucia and looked surprised when she entered Betty’s room to find her all dressed. She looked critically at Betty’s hair, but replied that it was “very good,” when Betty asked her if there were anything wrong.

“We’ll go in to see Mother first,” said Lucia, leading the way to the sitting room where Betty had been once before, after the famous hike. The door was closed and Lucia rapped. Countess Coletti’s maid opened the door, to tell them that the countess was still in the bath and to say that she had suggested, if the girls were ready first, a trip upstairs to see “Grandmother.”

Lucia nodded without comment and turned away with Betty. She hesitated. “Mother thinks I ought to go,” she said, “and I suppose she must mean that I take you. Our special friends know, Betty, that Grandmother Ferris is—queer. She is not my grandmother at all, but we call her that. She is the mother of Uncle’s wife and she went to pieces in an accident a few years ago. The doctor says her mind may come back and she’s quite harmless. You might not notice anything, but I thought I’d better tell you for fear she says some of the queer things she does say. She can’t bear to go out of these rooms of hers on the third floor, though we coax her down to sleep in the hot summer days—that is, whoever is here does. Uncle won’t insist on her going to a sanitarium; and so she has a nurse and a maid too and they take turns staying with her. I don’t know what is going to happen when Uncle marries again, and my mother says that he is sure to. That’s one worry in this house, Betty.”

Betty nodded soberly. She rather dreaded going, but if it was Lucia’s duty, she surely could go, too. She had never talked to any one who was “queer.” Perhaps she would not be obliged to say anything. Lucia had a second thought, she said, and went to bring the new doll. This looked not a little like Lucia herself, with its waving black hair and black eyes, though its round cheeks and complacent smile were not a reproduction of Lucia, who was a little thinner than when she had arrived from Italy.

“It may amuse Grandmother to see it,” said Lucia, carrying the box which contained the doll.

Up a winding stair they went to a third floor, as imposing as either the first or second and with ceilings as high as those of the second. “There is a little attic over this floor,” Lucia explained, “which makes the floor quite comfortable even in the summer. They go up to keep a current of air passing in the attic and have to watch that floor in storms, of course, for Grandmother’s rooms would be flooded, perhaps. It’s been rather hard for Uncle to get good help to look after her properly; but now he has a nurse that used to be her maid and likes her.”

A door stood open where Lucia stopped. Betty glanced into a beautifully furnished sitting room where some one was sitting, apparently dozing in her chair, and a keen-looking young woman sat sewing nearby. The older woman started up, though the girls had been very quiet. “Is that Laura?” she asked.

Betty saw an anxious, lined face, not very old but having large, troubled eyes with which she scanned the girls, holding to the arms of her chair and ready to rise.

“Not this time, Grandmother,” replied Lucia in cheerful tones. “I came to show you the doll that I’m going to dress for Christmas. Some little girl that doesn’t have a doll is going to get it. The girls of one of my little clubs are coming here to dress dolls this afternoon and this is Betty Lee, one of my friends at school.”

The wild expression had passed from the elderly lady’s face and she held out her hand to Betty with a slight smile. Betty quickly crossed the space between them to take the hand offered. Oh, the poor, poor lady! Betty knew that Mrs. Murchison’s name was Laura. So she was expecting her daughter to come. Hadn’t they dared to tell her that she never would come?

“Let me see the doll, then Lucia,” said Mrs. Ferris, as naturally as any one, but she added, “I can’t see why Laura doesn’t come. She hasn’t been in to see me today. But she told me yesterday that she had to go to some club. Do you know what it was, Lucia? But you weren’t here then, were you?”

Mrs. Ferris looked troubled again, as if she were trying to recall events and could not. “Don’t you think you’d better call up and see if you can find Laura, Bessie? Tell her I want to see her. Oh, I do want to see Laura so much.”

“Of course,” soothingly said the nurse, addressed as Bessie. Mrs. Ferris thought her her maid as formerly. “Shall I open the box, Miss Lucia?”

But Lucia was already taking the cover from the box and disclosing the doll in its tissue wrappings. “See, Grandmother, it hasn’t a thing to wear. I could have gotten dressed dolls, but I had to dress this myself—only I mean Giovanna to do the sewing!” Lucia made a comical face at her “grandmother,” who laughed. “That is just like you, Laura. You were always a hand to get out of work.”

Turning to Betty, Mrs. Ferris continued. “You know, Mary, that I used to do all the work for Laura and her father and the other children. That was before Mr. Ferris made so much money and the children died, all but Laura. Why, Laura, let me get some of your little brother’s things for this baby. Bessie, go to the lower drawer in my mahogany highboy and get me something to dress this child with! There is a long white dress there that Willie was baptized in, and a flannel shirt and bands and embroidered skirts. Bring everything there is!”

Lucia looked troubled, but Mrs. Ferris had only a happy expression as she cradled the doll in her arms. Bessie, who knew that there were no baby clothes in the highboy, also knew where they were to be found. “Wait a moment, Mrs. Ferris,” said she, as she slipped out from the door and flew up to the attic with the key to a trunk. What a blessing it would be if this doll would prove a distraction! But one never could tell.

Lucia glanced around uneasily, but saw, through a door that stood ajar, that the maid was moving about there and was within call. “Do you think the doll pretty, Grandmother!” she asked. But Mrs. Ferris was now turning the doll over with a puled expression. “Its hair is so long,” she said.

Then Lucia had a bright idea. “Wait till I get the other doll they sent out,” she said, “I decided to take this one because I think it is prettier. But perhaps you will like the other better. It looks like a real baby.”

“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Ferris, still puled.

“Lina,” called Lucia, “come here a minute, will you?”

The maid who was in the bedroom beyond, entered at once and needed no direction as she saw the situation. “I’m going down after another doll, Lina,” said Lucia. “Just wait, Betty.”

“Won’t you sit down, Mary?” asked Mrs. Ferris in a moment, politely indicating a chair. Lina drew it nearer for Betty, who sat down. “How is your mother, Mary?” continued Mrs. Ferris. “I intended to get over to see her yesterday, but the weather was so bad. I don’t like the winter weather.”

Betty saw that Mrs. Ferris expected no answer, but she leaned toward her with a respectful and sympathetic expression on her face. Lina stood quietly by. Then Bessie entered, her arms filled with a large pasteboard box, and Lucia was only a moment or two behind Bessie.

“Here are the things, Mrs. Ferris,” said Bessie, depositing the box on a straight chair that she drew up for the purpose. “Wait, Bessie,” said the maid, “I’ll put up the folding table.”

This was done as Lucia exchanged the one doll for the other, Mrs. Ferris evidently approving the change. The second doll was a baby doll, almost as large as a real baby and with soft golden hair like Betty’s.

“This is the prettier doll,” said Mrs. Ferris quite sensibly. “What made you bring those clothes here, Bessie? Oh, yes. I told you to.” Again Mrs. Ferris looked puled. She considered the doll. “This looks like Willie. I believe it is Willie. Poor little thing, with those cheap clothes on! How did that happen, Bessie?”

In a low tone Lucia spoke to Lina. “I’ll leave this doll with Grandmother. Perhaps it will amuse her; shall we go?”

“Slip away without saying anything,” Bessie whispered, edging around by Lucia. “She will not remember. She is bad today, you see.”

It was a great relief to Betty when Lucia drew her toward the door and out. “Oh, Lucia!” she said as they passed down the stairway, “I am so sorry for her! It was so pitiful!”

“Wasn’t it! I never saw her like that. Usually she is just a little queer, but her mind was all mixed up today. It just about breaks Uncle’s heart to see her, even. She was awfully good to him and made her will leaving everything to Laura and to him, even in case of her daughter’s death. So that is one reason that he wants her to be in her own apartment as long as possible. He can engage people to take care of her, even if she should be difficult to manage and then he knows how she is being treated, you see. Mother has an oversight now, too; but that and some other things are nearly wearing Mother’s nerves to pieces. That is why she has so much company and goes so much, though of course, all her old friends want to see her, too.”

From the sad scene of the third floor Betty was soon transported to the large dining room of the Murchison home, where the Countess Coletti and a few friends, with Mr. Murchison, the head of the house, sat about a beautifully appointed table with its silver, cut glass and china, its flowers and fragrance. There was cheerful, even clever conversation into which Betty was drawn a little at first, as the older guests politely took an interest in the two girls. But Lucia and Betty, side by side, carried on a low conversation, as they found it proper, or listened with interest to that of their elders. Betty was impressed with the grace and social poise of the countess, but did not care very much for a handsome blonde who sat at Mr. Murchison’s right and whom Lucia said was “trying to marry Uncle,” though that remark had been made before the party went into the dining room. Relieved from much necessity of talking to any one, Betty had plenty of opportunity to study the people about the table, from whose voices and conversation she could gather not a little about their personalities. She could also thoroughly enjoy the excellent dinner, served in attractive courses.

The countess sat at the proper hostess end of the table and at her right was a gentleman who could not, or possibly did not try to conceal his rather sentimental interest in the countess. Of him Lucia, naturally, had not spoken, but Betty wondered. She knew what her father would do if anybody would say such silly things to her mother! Did the countess like it? Nobody appeared to pay the least bit of attention to it. So Betty decided that she would not be shocked. Probably that was the silly way of some people.

She wished she had the recipe of a wonderful pudding that melted in your mouth and preceded an ice-cream confection. A smile of amusement curled around her mouth at the idea of asking for a recipe at this distinguished place; but just then one of the ladies said something really funny, a clever reply to the countess, and Betty’s smile extended into laughter with the rest.

At the close of the meal, Lucia led Betty upstairs again; but they were passed by Mr. Murchison, who patted Lucia’s shoulder as he went up and said to Betty that he hoped she would have a pleasant visit. “Make her have a good time, Lucia,” said he, starting up the second flight.

“I’ll try to do so,” replied Lucia.

The girls turned into Lucia’s room and changed their frocks for comfortable kimonos. Had Betty been at home, she would have put on her thick bath robe; but she had brought her silk kimono as appropriate to this visit. Lucia’s negligee was a pretty affair, and Lucia apologized for the absence of the maid by saying that she would be having her dinner now, she supposed. Lucia tossed her clothes on a chair and her bed, for the maid to put away, Betty supposed; but Betty carried hers into her own room and hung them carefully in a closet, not only because she had been taught to do so, for Betty was no angel or averse to letting things go at times, but because she wanted her garments to keep on looking well while she was here and she did not want to seem to impose upon the service offered. Betty did not mind if Lucia thought her a little careful. It was natural enough, however, though Lucia had told her to “stay and talk,” for Betty to take her clothes to her own room. Little details are sometimes disturbing things to settle, but Betty tried to keep in mind what was most important, when she had them to settle.

“Uncle always goes up to see Grandmother Ferris after dinner,” said Lucia. “He just excuses himself from the company when we have guests. He goes up some other times too, but always then, before she goes to bed, to see how she is.”

Betty quite approved this, and beamed on him with such a warm smile when he stopped afterwards at Lucia’s door to look in upon them, that he thought, “What a nice little girl Lee has.” Lucia had opened her door because it was too hot in her bedroom; yet to open a window would bring cold breezes in, she thought.

“That was a bright idea of yours, Lucia, to show Grandmother that doll, or both of them. Bessie was telling me all about it. It seems that Grandmother is not like herself at all today and is a little feeble, too. Perhaps the ‘flu’ she had last month is having some effect now.”

Mr. Murchison stopped to consider a moment, soberly.

“Bessie says that she has had a wonderful time dressing that baby doll in the old baby clothes, and Grandmother herself told me to speak softly for fear I’d waken ‘Willie.’ The doll was in her bed! She was very happy and sent her love to Laura——”

Here Mr. Murchison broke off and turned away quickly.

Tears came into Lucia’s eyes, but she whisked them away with the little lace handkerchief which lay by her on the desk to which they had drawn their chairs. “Poor Uncle! He couldn’t have said another word without his voice shaking, I know. But he wanted to tell me. Oh, Betty, isn’t life hard sometimes! I can’t study! Come over here on the chaise longue and let me tell you things. I’ve wanted to for a long time.”