“Don’t call on Thurley unless you like. I dare say she does not expect it. Every gawk of a country girl will crowd in on her, curious and self-seeking, and if Thurley wants to see any one, she’ll come to them. She doesn’t belong to the town any more but to the world.” His voice softened as he added, “Good-by, dear; now don’t work your head off. I’ll lunch at the hotel—there is so much stuff to catch up on.” That same afternoon Dan’s car drove slowly past the Fincherie, whose crisp curtains and lifted shades told the world a new, optimistic story. No one was visible, not even the much discussed lady’s maid or the accompanist who was said to sit on the lawn and drink endless cups of tea “right in the middle of the afternoon!” Further along in the road he was hailed by a dreaded trio—Josie, Hazel and Cora! “Oh, Dan, do take us by her house,” they began, waving their arms in wild invitation. “We’re crazy to see her—Cora never knew her,” Josie Donaldson explained by way of excuse as they climbed pell mell into the machine. “I guess she won’t want to remember us,” Josie added, “but ma sent over my winter coat one time and she wore it two seasons—she ought to know _me_.” “My aunt helped her a lot too,” added Hazel Mitchell, “and she borrowed every one’s books. I don’t think she’ll dare put on airs. I’m going to start right in and call her Thurley just as if I didn’t know she was famous. I’m dying to get inside that house. Just think, girls, it hasn’t been opened for years until—” Thin ice was fast approaching in the matter of the past and with a swift side glance at Dan, who steered ahead with a fiendish hope of dashing his human cargo off the nearest cliff, Hazel winked at the others and began anew, “How’s Lorraine?” “Fine! Where do you girls want to go?” “To call on Thurley. Please, Dan, drive us up there. It’ll look so much better if we came in a machine.” “Your machine, anyhow,” giggled Josie. “Aren’t you working to-day?” he asked Hazel savagely. “I had a headache and the doctor said I needed fresh air.” “Then you better stay outdoors instead of calling on people, if it’s fresh air you are after,” he advised. Nothing but giggles answered him and they hailed the white clad figure of Owen Pringle, who held up his cane in threatening fashion. “You sha’n’t have the prettiest girls all to yourself, you old married man,” he threatened. “Do let me sit in the back—” Unwillingly, Dan halted the car and a new element of disturbance was added. “We want to call on Thurley Precore,” they told Owen, who was always at his best when his arms were full of girl and some one else was driving the car. “Come along and we’ll ask her to let you design some hats—come on.” “Joyful, joyful, joyful,” he began in an assumed falsetto, at which Dan drew the car to a standstill and looked around with a frown.