"I can tell you another interesting bit about this Miss Windsor," here put in pretty Jessie. "Do you remember that shabby little woman in black who came down on the same train with Molly's Mr. Lufton?" "Nonsense," broke in Molly. "I remember her," said Judy. "Adele said she was a dressmaker, I believe." "Well, she told the truth for once. She is a dressmaker, but she happens to be Adele's mother, too." "Her mother," they gasped in chorus. "Yes. When Mama and I were in New York for the Christmas holidays, we were recommended to go to a French place called 'Annette's' for some clothes. There was a French woman named Annette who came out and showed us things, but the head of the establishment was Mrs. Windsor. And we saw Adele hanging around several times. We also saw Adele's father, very dressy with a flower in his buttonhole and yellow gloves. He smiled sweetly at me in the hall. The fitter told us secretly that Mrs. Windsor spent everything she made on Adele and Mr. Windsor." "What a shame," cried Judy, "and Adele throws money around like water." "No wonder she wears such fine clothes. I suppose Annette makes all of them." "Thank heavens, we're rid of her forever," exclaimed Molly. "It's not difficult to find a spot of good in the worst of people. There were Minerva Higgins and Judith Blount and Frances Andrews. I never did feel hopeless about them, but this Adele, who doesn't recognize her own mother--well----" "Ah, well," broke in Otoyo. "She is what we call in Japan 'evil spirit,' or 'black spirit.' She will not remain because there are so many good spirits. She will fly away." "On a broomstick," put in Edith. "But Minerva Higgins, there is some greatly big news about her. You have not heard?" "No," they cried. Otoyo had become quite a little news body among her friends. "She will not finish the course. She will be married in June to learned gentleman, a professor of languages of death----" "You mean dead languages," put in Molly, laughing. "Ah, well, it is the same." "That is why Minerva looks so gay and blushing," said Jessie. "I saw her this morning reading a letter on one of the corridor benches. I might have guessed it was a love letter from her expression of supreme joy." "I wonder if it was written in Sanskrit." "I suppose after they marry they will have Latin for breakfast, Greek for dinner and ancient Hebrew for supper," observed Katherine. "But the gold medals, what of them?" "They will be saved for Pallas Athene, and Socrates, and Alcibiades Plato, of course," said Edith. "Who are they?" "Why, the children, goosie," and the party broke up with a laugh. CHAPTER XX. THE JUBILEE. Molly Brown, in a state of wild excitement, rushed into No. 5 one morning waving a slip of yellow paper in her hand. "They're coming," she cried ecstatically but vaguely. "Who?" demanded her two bosom friends from the floor where they were engaged in fitting a paper pattern to a strip of velvet much too narrow.