First, they called very early in the afternoon, just when Betty, with her arms full of matting for her rabbits, rushed out at the front door. She nearly ran into them. The matting slipped from her arms, and she stood spell-bound, gazing at the Story Books. Mrs. Dudgeon was there, looking half a size larger than any ordinary person. An osprey waved luxuriantly in a mauve toque, and her black dress bristled with grandeur. She produced a lorgnette and looked through it severely at Betty. Betty became half the size of an ordinary mortal.

Adelaide Maud was with Mrs. Dudgeon.

Adelaide Maud was in blue.

Adelaide Maud seemed stiff and bored.

"Is your mamma at home?" Mrs. Dudgeon asked.

Betty kicked the matting out of the way in a surreptitious manner.

"Oh, please come in," she said shyly.

It was tragic that of all moments in one's life the Dudgeons should have come when Betty happened to be flying out, and they had not even had time to ring for Bertha, who, as parlour-maid, had really irreproachable showing in manners.

Betty tripped over a mat on her way to the drawing-room. Betty showed them in without a word of warning. Jean was singing at the piano--atrociously. Jean might know that she oughtn't to sing till her voice was developed. Elma was dusting photographs.

Nothing could have been more tragic.

The girls melted from the room, and left Mrs. Dudgeon and Adelaide Maud in the centre of it, stranded, staring.

"What an odd family," said Mrs. Dudgeon stiffly.

Adelaide Maud never answered.

The Leightons rushed frantically to other parts of the house.

The second tragedy occurred.

Mrs. Leighton utterly refused to change her quiet afternoon dress for another in which to receive Mrs. Dudgeon. She went to the drawing-room as she was.

They ran to Cuthbert's room to tell him about it. Cuthbert seemed rather excited when he asked which "Story Book." Elma said, "Oh, you know, the one," and he concluded she meant Hermione, who did not interest him at all.

"Why couldn't you stay and talk to them?" he asked. "They wouldn't eat you. Who cares what you have on? The mater is quite right. She is just as nice in a morning costume as old Dudgeon in her war paint. You think too much of clothes, you kids."

"Yet you like to see us nicely dressed," wailed Jean.

"Of course I do. Mabel in that blue thing is a dream."

Mabel looked at him gratefully.

"Oh, if only Mabel had been sitting there embroidering, in her blue gown, and Bertha had shown them ceremoniously in! How lovely it would have been!" said Elma.

"I couldn't have worn my blue," said Mabel with a conscience-stricken look. "You know why."

"Oh, Mabel--the rucking! How unfortunate!"

"It never dawned on us that we should ever know them."

Cuthbert looked from one to another.

"What on earth have you been up to now?" he asked suspiciously.

"Mabel got her dress made the same as Adelaide Maud's," said Betty accusingly. She rather liked airing Mabel's mistakes just then, after having been so sat upon for her own.

"Well, it's a good thing that Adelaide Maud, as you call her, won't ever come near you," Cuthbert remarked in a savage voice.

"But it's Adelaide Maud who's in the drawing-room," said Elma.

Cuthbert drew in his breath sharply.

"Oh, Cuthbert, you aren't well."

"It's the bandage," he said. "Montgomery is a bit of an idiot about bandaging. I told him so. Doesn't give a fellow room to breathe."

He became testy in his manner.

"You oughtn't to have all run away like that, like a lot of children. Old Dudgeon will be sniffing round to see how much money there is in our furniture, and cursing herself for having to call."

"Adelaide Maud was awfully stiff," sighed Elma.

"Our furniture can bear inspection," said Mabel with dignity. "The Dudgeons may have money, but papa has taste."

"Yes, thank goodness," said Cuthbert. "They can't insult us on that point. This beastly side of mine! Why can't we go downstairs, Mabel, and tell them what we think of 'em?"

"I'm longing to, but terrified," said Mabel. "It's because we've admired them so and talked about them so much."

"Adelaide Maud wouldn't know you from the furniture," said Jean. "You may spare yourself the agony of wanting to see her. I think they might be nice when we've been neighbours in a kind of way for so long."

"Well--they're having a good old chat with the mater at least," said Cuthbert.

"I haven't confidence in mummy," said Jean. "I can hear her, can't you? Instead of talking about the flower show or the boat races, or something dashing of that sort, she will be saying----"

"Oh, I know," said Mabel. "When Elma was a baby--or was it when Betty was a baby--yes, it was, and saying how cute Cuthbert was when he was five years old----"

"If she does," shouted Cuthbert. "Oh, mother mine, if you do that!" He shook his fist at the open door.

A sound of voices approaching a shut one downstairs came to their ears. Each girl stole nimbly and silently out and took up a position where she could see safely through the banisters. First came the mauve toque with its white osprey quite graciously animated, then a blue and wide one in turquoise, which from that foreshortened view completely hid the shimmering gold of the hair of Adelaide Maud. Mrs. Leighton was weirdly self-possessed, it seemed to the excited onlookers. She had rung for Bertha, who held the door open now in quite the right attitude. Good old Bertha. Mrs. Dudgeon was condescendingly remarking, "I'm so sorry your little girls ran away!"

"Little girls!" breathed four stricken figures at the banisters.

Adelaide Maud said, "Yes, and I did so want to meet them. I hear they are very musical."

"Musical!" groaned Mabel.

"She just said that to be polite--isn't it awful?" whispered Jean.

"Hush."

"Once more, our best thanks to your son."

Mrs. Leighton answered as though she hadn't minded a bit that Cuthbert had been nearly killed the day before.

"So good of you to call," said she.

"Oh," cried Elma, with her head on the banister rail, after the door shut, "I hate society; don't you, mummy?"

"I think you're very badly behaved, all of you, listening there like a lot of babies," said Mrs. Leighton.

"Come and tell your little girls all about it," cried Jean sarcastically.

Mrs. Leighton smiled as she toiled upstairs.

"It ought to be a lesson to you. Haven't I often told you that listeners hear no good of themselves," she exclaimed.

"Oh, mummy, we are musical," reminded Mabel, softly. "Think of that terrific compliment!"

Their mother seemed to have more on her mind than she would tell them. She puffed gently into Cuthbert's room.

"These stairs are getting too much for me," she said.

"Well, mater?" asked Cuthbert in an interrogating way.

"Well, Cuthbert, they are very grateful to you," she said.

He lay back on his pillows.

"Don't I know that patronizing gratitude," he said. It seemed as though they had all suddenly determined to be down on the Dudgeons. His face appeared hard and very determined. He had the fine forehead which so distinguished his father, with the same clear-cut features, and a chin of which the outline was strong and yet frankly boyish. He had a patient insistent way of looking out of his eyes. It had often the effect of wresting remarks from people who imagined they had nothing to say.

This time, Mrs. Leighton, noting that familiar appeal in his eyes, was drawn to discussing the Dudgeons.

"Mrs. Dudgeon was very nice; she said several very nice things about you and us. She says that Mr. Dudgeon had always a great respect for your father. He knew what he had done in connection with the Antiquarian Society and so on. Miss Dudgeon was very quiet."

"Stiff little thing," said Jean, with her head in the air.

"She was very nice," said Mrs. Leighton. There was a softness in her voice which arrested the flippancy of the girls. "I don't know when I have met a girl I liked so much."

"Good old Adelaide Maud," cried Jean.

A flush ran up Cuthbert's pale determined face. It took some of the hardness out of it.

"Did she condescend to ask for me?" he asked abruptly. "Or pretend that she knew me at all?"

"She never said a word about you," said his mother; "but----"

"But--what a lot there may be in a but," said Jean.

"She looked most sympathetic," said Mrs. Leighton lamely. Cuthbert moved impatiently.

"What silly affairs afternoon calls must be," said he.

"Miss Steven--the girl you ran away with--isn't well to-day, and they are rather anxious about her. She is very upset, but wanted to come and tell you how much she thanked you."

"Oh, lor," said Cuthbert, "what a time I shall have when I'm well. I shall go abroad, I think."

Elma gazed at him with superb devotion. He seemed such a man--to be careless of so much appreciation, and from the Story Books too! Cuthbert appeared very discontented.

"Oh, these people!" he exclaimed; "they call and thank one as they would their gardener if he had happened to pull one of 'em out of a pond. It's the same thing, mummy! They never intend to be really friendly, you know."

Elma slipped downstairs and entered the drawing-room once more. A faint perfume (was it "Ideal" or "Sweet Pea Blossom"?) might be discerned. A Liberty cushion had been decidedly rumpled where Mrs. Leighton would be bound to place Mrs. Dudgeon. Where had Adelaide Maud, the goddess of smartness and good breeding, located herself? Elma gave a small scream of rapture. On the bend of the couch, where the upholstering ran into a convenient groove for hiding things, she found a little handkerchief. It was of very delicate cambric, finely embroidered. Elma's first terror, that it might be Mrs. Dudgeon's, was dispelled by the magic letters of "Helen" sewn in heliotrope across a corner. It struck her as doubtful taste in one so complete as Adelaide Maud that she should carry heliotrope embroidery along with a blue gown. She held her prize in front of her.

"Now," said she deliberately, "I shall find out whether it is 'Ideal' or 'Sweet Pea.'"

She sniffed at the handkerchief in an awe-stricken manner. The enervating news was thus conveyed to her--Adelaide Maud put no scent on her handkerchiefs.

This was disappointing, but a hint in smartness not to be disobeyed. Mrs. Dudgeon must have been the "Ideal" person. Elma rather hoped that Hermione used scent. This would provide a loophole for herself anyhow. But Mabel would be obliged to deny herself that luxury.

Elma sat down on the couch with the handkerchief, and looked at the dear old drawing-room with new eyes. She would not take that depressing view of the people upstairs with regard to the Story Books. She was Adelaide Maud, and was "reviewing the habitation" of "these Leighton children" for the first time.

"Dear me," said Adelaide Maud, "who is that sweet thing in the silver frame?"

"Oh," said Mrs. Leighton, "that's Mabel, my eldest."

Then Adelaide Maud would be sure to say with a refined amount of rapture, "Oh, is that Mabel? I have heard how pretty she is from Mr. Maclean."

Then mother--oh, no; one must leave mother out of this conversation. She would have been so certain to explain that Mabel was not pretty at all.

Elma sat with her elbows out and her hands presumably resting on air. "Never lean your elbows on your hips, girls," Miss Stanton, head of deportment, informed them in school. "Get your shoulder muscles into order for holding yourself gracefully." One could only imagine Adelaide Maud with a faultless deportment.

Elma carried the little handkerchief distractedly to her lips, then was appalled at the desecration.

Oh--and yet how lovely! It was really Adelaide Maud's!

She tenderly folded it.

How distinguished the drawing-room appeared! How delightful to have had a father who made no mistakes in the choice of furniture! Cuthbert had said so. She could almost imagine that the mauve toque must have bowed before the Louis Seize clock and acknowledged the Cardinal Wolseley chair. It did not occur to her to think that Mrs. Dudgeon might size up the whole appearance of that charming room in a request for pillars and Georgian mirrors, and beaded-work cushions. It is not given to every one to see so far as this, however, and Elma--as Miss Dudgeon for the afternoon--complimented her imaginary hosts on everything. As a wind-up Miss Dudgeon asked Mrs. Leighton particularly if her third daughter might come to take tea with Hermione.

"So sweet of you to think of it," said the imaginary Mrs. Leighton, once more in working order.

Out of these dreams emerged Elma. Some one was calling her abruptly.

"Coming," she shrieked wildly, and clutched the handkerchief.

She kept it till she got to Cuthbert. It seemed to her that he, as an invalid, might be allowed a bit of a treat and a secret all to himself.

"Adelaide Maud left her handkerchief," she said. "We shall have to call to return it."

He gazed at the bit of cambric.

"Good gracious, is that what you girls dry your eyes on?"

He took it, and looked at it very coldly and critically.

"Thank you," he said calmly.

"Oh, Cuthbert," she exclaimed with round eyes, "you won't keep it, will you?"

"I shall return it to the owner some day, when she deserves it," said the hero of yesterday, with a number of pauses between each phrase.

"Don't say a word, chucky, will you not?"

"I won't," said Elma honourably, yet deeply puzzled.

Imaginary people were the best companions after all. They did exactly what one expected them to do.

It seemed rather selfish that Cuthbert should hang on to the handkerchief. But of course they would never have even seen it had it not been for the accident.

She surrendered all ownership at the thought, and then gladly poured tea for the domineering Cuthbert.

"You are a decent little soul, Elma," said he.

"And you are very extraasperating," said Elma.