Lilly, being despatched to make inquiries, returned in two minutes with her little sister by her side. Viola was a bony child, all eyes and teeth, as ugly as Lilly was beautiful. Her sombre glance was riveted wistfully upon Elizabeth's face. She was too wise to weaken her cause with words, but held out eleven little white objects, at which we looked enviously. "Seven from eleven leaves four," murmured Emily. "I don't want any," said Viola, who was bidding high. She would have bartered her immortal soul to gain her point. "And I don't want more than one," said Lilly. "That will leave two apiece for the rest of you." "Well?" asked Elizabeth, looking round the circle. "Oh, do let's have them!" I urged, dazzled by a sudden vision of debauchery. "They'll be just the thing to go with the wine." They were _just_ the thing. We found this out later on. "Oh, yes, let's have them," said Marie, who felt the responsibilities of a hostess. "Let's," said Emily, our silent member. "I won't!" asseverated Tony, battling heroically for a lost cause. "I won't have anything to do with the treat, if you let Viola in." "Then don't!" retorted Elizabeth, now sure of victory, and scornful of further dispute. Tony turned her back upon her venal friends, and marched off to another group of girls. There was no great novelty about this proceeding, but the imminence of the _congé_ lent it an unwonted seriousness. "Don't you suppose she'll play _cache cache_ with us?" asked Marie somewhat ruefully, and well aware of what we should lose if she did not. "Of course she will," said Elizabeth, "because she can't play without us." And Elizabeth was right. Before the first of June, Tony had "come round;" being persuaded to this condescension by Lilly the peacemaker. Every cluster of friends should look to it that there is one absolutely sweet-tempered person in the group. But one is enough.