They were not elegant curtains. Graham had insisted that she should get nothing elaborate, nothing that would be out of keeping with the simplicity. They were soft and straight and creamy, with a frost-like pattern rambling over them in threads of the same, illuminated here and there with a single rose and a leaf in color. There was something cheerful and spring-like to them, and yet they looked exceedingly plain and suitable, no ruffles or trimming of any kind, just hems. To Elizabeth's mind they had been very cheap. Shirley would have exclaimed over their beauty wistfully and turned from them with a gasp when she heard their price. They were one of those quiet fitting things that cost without flaunting it. They transformed the room into a dream. "Oh, isn't it _beautiful_!" exclaimed Elizabeth, standing back to look as the first curtain went up. "Yes, Miss, it's very stunning, Miss," said the man, working away with good will in his face. When the curtains were all up, Elizabeth pinned one of her cards to the curtain nearest the front door, inscribed, "With love from Elizabeth." Then in a panic she looked at her watch. "Oh Jenkins! It's almost six o'clock," she cried in dismay. "They might get here by half-past, perhaps. We must hurry! Bring the other things in quick now, please." So Jenkins brought them in, bundles and bags and boxes, an ice-cream freezer, and last of all the cooking-outfit belonging to their touring-car. "Now you get the hot things ready, Jenkins, while I fix the table," directed the girl. Jenkins, well trained in such things, went to work, opening cans and starting his chafing-dish fire. Elizabeth with eager fingers opened her parcels. A great platter of delicious triangular chicken sandwiches, a dish of fruit and nut salad surrounded by crisp lettuce leaves, a plate of delicate rolls, cream puffs, chocolate éclairs, macaroons, a cocoanut pie, things she liked herself; and then because she knew no feast without them there were olives, salted almonds, and bonbons as a matter of course. Delicious odors from the kitchen end of the room began to fill the air. Jenkins was heating a pail of rich soup--chicken with rice and gumbo--from one of the best caterers in the city. He was making rich cocoa to be eaten with whipped cream that Elizabeth was pouring into a glass pitcher; the pitcher came from the ten-cent store if she had only known it. Jenkins was cooking canned peas and heating lovely little brown potato croquettes. The ice-cream freezer was out in full sight, where they could never miss it. Everything was ready now. "Jenkins, you better light up that queer stove of theirs now if you're sure you know how,--she said it was just like a lamp the way it worked,--and put those things in the oven to keep warm. Then we'll pack up our things, and hide them out in the grass where they can't see, and get them in the car when they get out. Hurry, for they'll be here very soon now, I think."