I wondered a lot as I stood there, and I realized that I had hoped--really without knowing it--that I’d see that tall Deane man again. But his rooms were empty and dark, and it was raining, and a swinging sign somewhere in the neighborhood protested in high shrill squeaks as the wind pushed it back and forth, and the twins had diphtheria, and I had been so cross to them sometimes, and they were _so_ dear, and poor Beata had lost her sweetheart, and Leslie was crying, and Viola angry and miserable--and--I _did_ want to wander out into our big, yellow-walled kitchen and say “What are you going to have for supper, Mother?”--and to know that they were _all_--every one of them--all right. The court was growing very dark, and the shadows were gloomy. The rain was caught by a swooping wind and swished against the windows and ran down the panes in rivulets. And just after that the Pension bell jangled loudly, and I thought of the twins and of cablegrams, and when, after a long, long tightly stretched moment or two, some one tapped on my door, I had to moisten my lips before I could even half whisper, “_Come_--” And then-- Oh, well--there is always, _always_, blue back of the gray! But somehow, when one is far from home and it rains hard, you sort of forget it! CHAPTER THIRTEEN A PATCH OF BLUE SKY It was Beata who had tapped on my door, and after my weak-kneed “Come--” she opened it and came in, and as she crossed the floor to reach me she held out a lavender striped box that was tied with silver cord. I took it, and it did seem to me that the silver cord would never come untied--I suppose because I was so excited--but at last I got the knot out and the cover off, and I saw a bunch of big purple violets that smelled of earth and of their own soft, sweet perfume. I couldn’t believe they were for _me_! I had never had violets sent to _me_ before. But they were for me, and after Beata, who had lingered from interest and frankly looked on, said, “Signorina, _la carte_!” I picked up the envelope that was in the bottom of the box, and read on it, “For “Miss ‘Plain Jane Jones’” and then I tore that open and read the letter. It was from Sam Deane and it said: “DEAR LITTLE GOOD SAMARITAN: “Lots of luck has come to me--and may I say, bless you? _I think I must!_ I can’t return the cream puffs, for somehow or other I mislaid the ones you loaned me, and I’m afraid I can’t match them. “I would like to say lots, but your Mr. Wake is looking over my shoulder and telling me that you are a dear little girl--and don’t I know it?--but, dragons or not, I am going to be your friend, if you will let me. “Mr. Wake wonders whether you will go walking with him, Saturday. He says he will call for you at three and return you when his waist line is sufficiently reduced.