"What a queer thing!" replied Hilda. "I never threw the old muslin away. I think I can poke it out of some depths somewhere; and it is so soft that, if I shake it out and hang it up for about half an hour, it will be quite presentable. Yon funny Judy, why do you wish to see me in that dress?" "You were all mine when you wore that dress last," said Judy. "I am always yours, my dearest. But don't let us talk sentiment; let us make ourselves smart, and let us come downstairs and be happy. We'll imagine that we are at a very gay party; heaps and heaps of other people in the room, but we two, as is sometimes the case, are more or less alone in the crowd. We are so completely one that other people scarcely affect us. We can talk together, and whisper old secrets about the garden, and Babs, and the animals, and the organ in the church, and the funny chorister-boy who would never sing in tune; we can talk of all these things, although there are throngs and throngs around us, for in a crowd those who love each other often find the best sort of solitude. Come down, Judy, come down, and let's be happy!" "How flushed you are, Hilda; are you well?" "Yes; I never felt better." "You look awfully pretty; you look quite lovely." "What a dear little flatterer you are! Does it really matter whether I look pretty or not? Aunt Marjorie would scold you, child, for praising my looks to my face; she would say you were encouraging vanity." "And I should tell her to her face that I was not," answered Judy stoutly. "It's right to look beautiful; it's copying the flowers. Now run and put on your India muslin dress, Hilda." Hilda left the room, and half an hour later the two sisters met in the little drawing room. There were fresh flowers in the vases; and a great bowl of primroses, which Aunt Marjorie had sent from the Rectory, was placed on the little table in the square bay-window. Judy in her white dress stood near the flowers. She took up one, and in an absent sort of fashion pulled it to pieces. Susan announced dinner, and the sisters dined together in great state, and with apparent enjoyment. Hilda joked about everything, and Judy, catching up her spirit, did likewise. "Let us imagine, just for to-night, that I am grown-up," she said; "treat me as if I were your grown sister--not your little sister--Hilda." Hilda felt in the humor to comply with any request Judy made. "We will have our coffee in the drawing room," she said. "Black coffee for me, please, Susan, but bring in a little jug of cream for Miss Judy's. Now, dearest," turning to the child, "don't forget that the play is going on; we have dined out with numbers, oh, numbers of guests, and now we are in the large assembly-room, alone in the crowd, happy because we are together."