Once more Pete swept and garnished the house, and once more Dong Ling
spoiled uncounted squares of chocolate trying to make the baffling
fudge. Bertram said that the entire Strata was a-quiver. Not but that
Billy and Aunt Hannah had visited there before, but that this was
different. They were to come at noon this time. This visit was not to be
a tantalizing little piece of stiffness an hour and a half long. It was
to be a satisfying, whole-souled matter of half a day's comradeship,
almost like old times. So once more the roses graced the rooms, and
a flaring pink bow adorned Spunkie's fat neck; and once more Bertram
placed his latest "Face of a Girl" in the best possible light. There was
still a difference, however, for this time Cyril did not bring any music
down to the piano, nor display anywhere a copy of his newest book.
The dinner was to be at three o'clock, but by special invitation the
guests were to arrive at twelve; and promptly at the appointed hour they
came.
"There, this is something like," exulted Bertram, when the ladies,
divested of their wraps, toasted their feet before the open fire in his
den.
"Indeed it is, for now I've time to see everything--everything you've
done since I've been gone," cried Billy, gazing eagerly about her.
"Hm-m; well, THAT wasn't what I meant," shrugged Bertram.
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