"A snotty," corrected John in a warning growl. "You're at school here, aren't you?" he added, turning to Joey. "I'm at Redlands." "That's the big place out beyond the Round Tower?" "Yes. I say, do you know anything about the tower?" Joey asked breathlessly. "Aunt Greta's the one to ask--she lives here. Why? Are you specially keen on towers?" "Joey comes from Scotland," Gracie said, as though a tower were an unknown spectacle in the north. Joey was just going to explain that what specially interested her was not so much the tower as the queer lights that came from it, when the gong for luncheon sounded with a roar, and Gracie got up. "Come along, Joey. John has his lunch up here." Rather dull for John, Joey thought, as she followed her cousin obediently along corridors and downstairs to the dining-room. She would have liked to ask about him, and whether he would soon be better, but was afraid of seeming inquisitive, so left Gracie and Miss Richards to make polite conversation. In the dining-room she was presented to Colonel Sturt, who was bald and rather morose, and gave her two fingers only when she shook hands. Then Cousin Greta motioned Joey to a chair on her own right, and luncheon began. It was a very grand luncheon; mindful of what Gabrielle had said, Joey stored up an exact description of the mayonnaise and roast chickens, the cold sirloin and wonderful salad, the trifle, meringues and apricot-jam tartlets; they at least would be something to tell the girls about. Cousin Greta saw to it that Joey made an excellent meal, but it was certainly a dull one. Colonel Sturt was upset by something he had read in his paper about Germans creeping back into the country; and Gracie was almost as obviously annoyed by her mother's refusal to let her do something or other that she wanted that afternoon. She did talk to Joey a little, but the two years between them seemed to make an impossible gulf, Joey thought. It was really rather a comfort when the long, grand luncheon was over, even though Cousin Greta swept Joey off to her own room for "a little talk"--rather an alarming suggestion. Cousin Greta's room was a world of looking-glasses; Joey saw her own slim self reflected everywhere--a self who looked oddly spruce and tidy in the dark green velveteen best frock of Redlands, and with her mass of fair hair tied neatly back with a dark green bow. Her brown eyes under black lashes looked rather seriously back at this new tidy self reflected. Cousin Greta came behind Joey and laid two hands on her shoulders. "And now, barring the clothes, you know how your dear father used to look when he came to us for his holidays," she said, and Joey felt sorry for Cousin Greta suddenly, and as though she were minding a good deal about Father under all her cold, languid ways.