Gregory demanded with unexpected promptness, “How much would it cost?” “Oh, about a hundred to New York and a hundred and fifty over,” said Mark vaguely. “Of course when two are together it costs less. And in Europe distances are short. Ora says she shall go to _pensions_ instead of hotels, if only because they would be two young women alone; and they cost much less. They can also travel second-class, and third in Germany and Switzerland. Ora says she and her friends always did it in summer because it was cooler and more interesting. She’s sent for a lot of Baedekers, is going to make a close estimate, then double it.” “One of my aunts died the other day and left me a thousand dollars; she had no family. Ida can have it. Of course I could send her more if she needed it, but she’s clever with money.” “That will do it.” (He knew that if it did not Ora, who would pay the bills, would manage to hoodwink Ida.) “And you must live with me. It’ll be fine. Bachelor’s Hall. We’ll do as we damn please.” Gregory shook hands with him, his strong hard face illuminated with the infrequent smile that gave it something of a sweet woman’s charm. “Thanks, old man,” he said fervently. “Sounds good!” XIII Several weeks passed before Ora sent for Miss Ruby Miller. She was busier during those weeks than she had been for many months. Ida came every other day at one o’clock and remained until five. They carved wood in the attic, and looked at pictures or read in the library during the hour and a half that included tea. Ida confessed that during the latter interval she was so bored sometimes she could scream, but added that she would stick it out if she yawned every tooth in her head loose. One thing that never bored her was the picture of Ora--her working blouse changed for a dainty house gown--presiding at the tea-table. She studied every detail, every gesture; she even cultivated a taste for tea, which heretofore she had regarded as fit for invalids only, like jellies and cup-custard.