When Arthur wrote that he should be away Christmas, Brenda seemed undisturbed, although Ralph and Agnes were annoyed by his absence.

"But he has been in Washington less than a month, and probably he wishes to stay over New Year's. We'll keep his Christmas presents until he returns."

Ralph and Agnes exchanged a glance.

"Hasn't he written you?"

"Why, yes—but what?"

Then Ralph explained that Arthur had had an offer to be private secretary to a certain senator, and that this would keep him in Washington all winter. "I received my letter only last night," Ralph hastened to add, lest Brenda should feel slighted. Brenda's own letter arrived that very day, but as it was second to Ralph's she read it in no very gracious spirit.

Then, too, Arthur seemed to take it too much a matter of course that she would praise his remaining in Washington. Brenda, forgetting that she herself had really reproached him for his idleness in Boston, began to complain to her mother of his lack of dignity in taking the position of private secretary.

"My dear," Mrs. Barlow had responded, "I am glad to hear that Arthur is busy. As there is no likelihood of his practising law, it is much better for him to have his mind occupied. It would be bad for you both were he to spend the winter in Boston with nothing to do but walk or drive or go to dinners and dances."

"But he isn't very strong, Mamma."

"Perhaps not; on that account the climate of Washington will be better for him. We have the assurance, however, that his health will be completely built up in a year, and your father has plans for him. It is no secret, so I may tell you that a new branch of the business is to be established next winter, and it is of such a nature that Arthur's knowledge of law will be valuable, and he will be put in charge of the office work."

"Does Arthur know?"

"Yes."

"Then I cannot see why he need be busy this winter. I believe that he is just staying in Washington to annoy me."

"Nonsense, Brenda!"

But Brenda would not listen to her mother, and it is to be feared that her letters reflected her impatience, for Arthur's letters came at long intervals. Although she did not hear from him directly, she knew from Ralph and Agnes that he was well, and from another source she often heard about him.

Although Brenda and Belle saw much less of each other than formerly, or perhaps because of this, they kept up a vigorous correspondence. After Christmas Belle and her mother had gone to Washington, and in her very first letter she mentioned having met Arthur Weston at a certain reception; "And I can assure you, that, in spite of being cut off from Boston, he looks very cheerful."

After this Belle never failed to mention Arthur in her letters to Brenda. She told what a great favorite he was with this one or that one. "He is an immense favorite, and I almost ought to warn you that he is really too happy in the society of other people."

Poor Brenda! All she could do was to write glowing letters to Belle, telling her that she herself had never known so pleasant a winter in Boston. She left Belle to infer that she was enjoying herself even more than would have been possible had Arthur been nearer. If the truth were told, Brenda amused herself rather sadly. Society wearied her, but she had not strength of mind to give it up altogether. To the delight, however, of Maggie McSorley, she went more often to the Mansion, and even condescended to give the girls some lessons in embroidery. Since her earlier school-days Brenda's skill in needlework had developed wonderfully, and she could work very beautiful patterns on doilies and centrepieces.

But to design and fill out these patterns was one thing, and to impart any of her own skill was another. The latter required infinite patience on Brenda's part, and Brenda had never been noted for her patience. Yet the discipline was better for her even than for the younger girls as she guided their needles and watched them take the right stitches, and helped the careless Maggie pull out the threads where she had drawn them too tight, puckering the linen web, and, alas! too often soiling it hopelessly.

It was good discipline for Brenda, because strangely enough she found herself more inclined to blame than to praise, and she could not help noticing how much defter and neater than all the others were the fingers of Concetta. Indeed, the latter did not really need the instruction. She had already, like many little Italian girls, served an apprenticeship in embroidery under her aunt. She did not intend to deceive any one in joining Brenda's class, but she could not bear the idea that she, among all the girls, should be deprived of the chance to be near the charming young lady, as she called Brenda, simply because she knew more than the others; so she too puckered her thread, and made occasional mistakes in fear lest perfection on her part should lead to her being excluded from the class.

Amy called herself a detached member of the Mansion staff. She could not give much time to assisting Miss South and Julia without neglecting her college work. But there were certain things that she could do in her leisure, and occasional spare hours she gave with great good-will to a class in literature. Amy was still devoted to her early love, "The Faery Queen," and once in a while, like Mr. Wegg, of fragrant memory, she dropped into poetry herself. She was winning her laurels in college, however, for more serious work than poetry—more serious, that is, in the eyes of the world; and already she was famous among her classmates for her literary ability.

Indirectly she had been the means of Haleema's going to the Mansion. It had happened in this way: during her first year in college she had gone once a week to play accompaniments at a College Settlement. In the chorus, for which she played, Haleema had been one of the most vociferous singers, and although Amy had not been able to see her much outside of the class, she had become much interested in the little girl, and had received one or two letters from her during the summer. What Haleema herself wrote, and what the head worker at the Settlement told her about Haleema's home life, convinced her that the little Syrian was exactly the kind of candidate desired for the Mansion school, and she was really pleased with her judgment when, after the first week or two, she heard Miss South and Julia praising the quickness and docility of her protÉgÉe. Haleema, however, was not a young person capable of great personal devotion, a fact that her pleading, poetic eyes seemed to contradict. As she sometimes confided to the other girls, she liked one person as well as another, and if she had gone a little further in her confidences, she might have said that the person in the ascendant was usually the one who at the time was doing some special favor for her. She appreciated presents, and had a hoard of pretty things stowed away in the bottom drawer of her bureau.

On Mondays Brenda often found herself going to the Mansion, chiefly because this was her only chance of seeing Amy. Monday, the Wellesley holiday, Amy gave in part to a Mansion class in literature, and when her little informal talk was at an end Brenda would seize her for a half-hour of "gossip," as she called it. Sometimes she arrived at the house before the class was over, and then, if she slipped into the class-room, Amy had not the heart to send her out. Amy protested that her work was by no means up to the standard that Brenda should look for in a teacher, while Brenda insisted that Amy's account of certain great poets and their work was so stimulating, that she should take up a course of reading herself; and, indeed, she did induce Amy to make out a list of books that she ought to read.

"I should rather they were interesting, but even if they are not really exciting, I'll promise to read at least three or four of them."

"To please me?" queried Amy.

"Well, partly to please you, but more to—to—well, to give me something to think about. Everything seems so dull and stupid this winter, that I'm going to try a homoeopathic remedy and try to read dull books—just to see if I can't strengthen my mind."

Then Amy, noticing that Brenda seemed far from happy, wisely asked no questions, and as they walked across the Common to the station they talked of everything except the subject that lay nearest Brenda's heart.

"How is Fritz Tomkins?" Brenda asked, almost abruptly, referring to an old playmate of Amy's, now a Harvard Sophomore.

"Oh, Fritz is doing splendidly. I hardly ever see him, and I'm so pleased."

"What a funny way of putting it—pleased because you seldom see him."

"Why, yes, because I know that means that he is so busy with his work that he has no time for other things. He has come to Wellesley only once this winter, and he tells me that he never worked so hard in his life."

If Amy's speech was a little disjointed, Brenda understood her, and in contrast her mind wandered to Arthur Weston. He, too, was busy, and perhaps doing his duty by remaining at his post in Washington. But unlike Amy, she did not feel pleased that he could so contentedly keep his back turned to his Boston friends. Consequently she sent only the briefest answers to his letters, and his replies became at last, if possible, briefer than hers.

Belle, however, kept her informed of Arthur's doings, and Brenda was never quite sure whether the information that she gave her was intended to please or to trouble her. She wrote, for example, of a riding party to Chevy Chase, where Arthur and Annabel Harmon had led all the others in gayety.

"Annabel Harmon!" The name was familiar; and soon Brenda recalled one of Julia's classmates at Radcliffe, a popular girl, and yet one whom some of the best girls did not like. She had had some trouble with that strange Clarissa Herter. Although Brenda had never cared so very much for Clarissa Herter, she was pleased now to recall that she had heard that Clarissa had in the end been more popular, or rather better liked, than Annabel. She remembered that Annabel's father was a politician, and when a second letter came with Annabel's name still connected closely with Arthur's, Brenda thought more deeply on the subject. She wondered if, perhaps, Arthur was planning to stay permanently in Washington, and if he hoped to get some position through the influence of Mr. Harmon.

Had Arthur been at home, Brenda would, undoubtedly, have given less time to the Mansion work; for in the first place, in starting the work Miss South had not counted on her aid. Other girls, more enthusiastic in the beginning, had given less service in the end, and Brenda was almost the only one who, without having promised much, was willing to do a great deal.

On the whole, Miss South was well pleased with the interest shown by her former pupils. There was Anstiss Rowe, for example, one of the most valued of the residents, who, after a year in society, had pronounced it all a bore. She had been one of the younger girls during Julia's days at Miss Crawdon's.

"You never knew," she said once to Julia, "my intense admiration for you. It would have spoiled it all had you known. But each of us little girls had to have some object of devotion, and you were my pattern of perfection."

"The idea!" responded Julia. "I suppose that I ought to blush, but what you say is too absurd."

"Oh, I suppose that you never wondered who used to send you those valentines; probably you had so many that you never thought about mine. But there was one with some lovely mother-of-pearl ornaments. In fact, I sent you two valentines that year, and two the next; but, of course, you wouldn't remember mine especially."

"It's all very touching, and, indeed, I do remember them, my dear Anstiss, for I have an idea that I received no other that year. At least, I have them safely put away at this very minute."

"Well, I suppose that you thought some extraordinary youth sent them."

"He would, indeed, have been extraordinary. But to tell you the truth, I suspected that some girl had a hand in them."

"We missed you when you went to College," said Anstiss meditatively.

Though Anstiss had pronounced society hollow and a bore, she had not entirely forsworn it, and at times she went home for a week or two, returning, however, always on the evening of her history reading. This was her special contribution to the school work.

Anstiss had her own protÉgÉe at the Mansion—a girl who had been in her Sunday-school class. Phoebe had been loath to leave school when her parents insisted, and Anstiss said it was merely avariciousness on their part, as her father was earning good pay. "When I came to investigate," she said, "I found that he was only her stepfather, and her mother said that she did not need her money. So in the end I was able to get her consent to her coming here. Phoebe was never very bright at school—"

Then Julia interrupted her.

"But she's doing splendidly here. Miss Dreen says that she's a born cook, and never makes a mistake."

"Yes, I know. And when she has finished her course I'm going to see what can be done to encourage her to study still further. She says she'd like to be a cook, but it seems to me that if she continues to be interested in her study, she might be a director of cooking somewhere."

"She'd earn as much by being a cook in some household."

"Yes, but after all she has hardly the physique, and certain qualities of hers lead me to think that she would be a good manager. We are going to have an exhibition soon, and although we do not expect the greatest results this first year, still I am sure that you will admit that the girls have learned something, and Phoebe shall exhibit one of her model luncheons. She has already served us some very good meals at a fabulously low cost. That is one of the things she is learning, to make the best use of inexpensive material."

It was Edith who had been listening attentively to all that Anstiss had said, and her reply, "I believe that I would rather see than eat those very, very inexpensive things," was given seriously. Edith was always glad to help the work at the Mansion when some matter of additional expense was brought to her, and she made conscientious visits to Gretchen, and in turn reported her progress to the old gardener. But there was a certain coldness in her manner that the young girls felt. They thought that she was not really interested in them, and her visits were never greeted with the delight that was so evident when Nora made her appearance. Edith was decided in her likes and dislikes. She could always be depended on to stand by a friend, and as certainly was she apt to be severe toward a wrongdoer. Though devoted to Julia and Miss South, she was less fond of Pamela and Anstiss.

"An artist's model! how Ralph would love to paint her!" Brenda had exclaimed to Miss South after first seeing Concetta. "How I wish that I had discovered her instead of Maggie."

"She may have more personal charm," Miss South had responded, "but Maggie is devoted to you, and some persons call her rather pretty, although," a little apologetically, "we all understand here at the Mansion that 'handsome is what handsome does' should be our chief rule of conduct. I never permit the girls to make one word of comment about the personal appearance of another."

"Oh, naturally," responded Brenda, accepting the implied reproof; "but the comparisons that I make will not come to the ears of the girls."

"No, not the comparisons, perhaps; but we try ourselves not to let them think that any girl is preferred by any one who comes here. All girls of fifteen are sensitive."

Yet Maggie, in spite of the fact that Concetta tried to make her jealous, was unwilling to believe that Brenda had a preference for Concetta.

"Miss Brenda asked Miss South to send me up to her house to get that parcel of embroidery patterns; she could have sent it down by her man just as well," concluded Concetta, with an important air; "or she could have asked you to come."

Then, when Maggie made no reply, except perhaps that she polished her glasses a little more vigorously, Concetta added:

"But I'm sure she just loves to have me come to her house. You see she always invites me to go up to her room, and she asks me all kinds of questions."

Then, as Maggie still continued provokingly silent, Concetta continued:

"You see, my country is a very interesting country, and I tell her all kinds of things that I have heard, especially about the beautiful cathedrals. She thinks I remember them all, but it is what I have heard the elders say, and she listens quite open-eyed, that, so young, I can remember so much. Don't you hate that you were born only in Boston."

"No, I don't," said Maggie gruffly; "I despise foreigners."

Then did Concetta become wisely silent, for she heard the step in the hall of one in authority, and she did not wish at the moment to bring Maggie to the point of tears. Maggie wept with unusual ease, and just now Concetta was not anxious to draw on herself a reproof, lest it should be followed by a withdrawal of the permission to go to Miss Barlow's.

It was true that Maggie had never swerved in her devotion, showing it often in unexpected ways. Whenever Brenda entered the room she followed her with her eyes, and when her goddess addressed her she always blushed deeply. Mrs. McSorley was constantly putting poor Maggie through a course of questioning, that the former might be made sure that little girl had done nothing likely to drive her out of this paradise.