"We'll open ours together," said Beatrice, coming back to Mr. Schultzsky in the parlour. Inside the wrappings in Mr. Schultzsky's hand lay a dainty thing, tied in tissue paper and blue ribbon. "Oh, it's what Margaret Van Courtland brought," exclaimed Beatrice. It was a lady's handkerchief, sheer and fine, edged about with a delicate lace. It lay in the old man's palm, yielding up a faint perfume and he gazed at it without speaking. "And I," said Beatrice brightly, "have a package of smoking tobacco! Now that will be handy next Spring to pack away my furs." The children grew sleepy, and the torches burned out, before the guests departed. Every one was in holiday humour. Every one voted it a success, and begged Miss Billy to set an early date for another. Miss Billy, tired but elated, counted the money in the tin box. "Twenty-five dollars!" she announced jubilantly. "With that amount the Improvement Club shall work wonders. There is a five-dollar bill here. I wonder if anybody could have contributed that amount?" "Mr. Schultzsky put that in,--that is, he gave it to me to put in for him," answered Beatrice quietly. "Now what do you suppose can have come over the spirit of the old fellow's dream?" said Theodore. "Maybe he's enamoured of you, Bea." "No, I think not," said Beatrice soberly. "I believe it was the stirring of a tender memory. He talked to me to-night of a girl wife, who died." "Well, it has been a night of nights, and I am not surprised at anything," said Miss Billy. "To think that Francis should prove to be the Count, and Margaret and her set should go wild over him! Did you know, Beatrice, that he is a Princeton graduate;--and has had a year at Heidelberg, beside?" Beatrice yawned. "Is there any more to do to-night?" she said. "I'm very sleepy." CHAPTER XVIII MARGARET LENDS ASSISTANCE "Though whatsoever ills betide, I'll stand for ever by your side, And naught shall you and me divide Because you are my friend." "THE only nice thing about your going away is your coming home again," said Miss Billy to Margaret. The two girls were seated side by side on the floor in Margaret's room, which bore a startling resemblance to a fancy bazaar. The bed was filled with airy masses of silk and gauze, the divan covered with ribbons and gloves and shoes, and the floor strewn with a varied assortment of hats, perfumery flasks, filigree silver and handkerchiefs. Margaret's last trunk had arrived from abroad, and the two girls were spending the morning at that mysterious and delightful task known to all womankind as "unpacking." "It's the next best thing to going away myself," continued Miss Billy, "to have you go; and come home with so much of the foreign atmosphere about you. Your sentences fairly ooze Rhine water, and foreign castles, and pretzels."