"Aunt Enid, I suppose! If it was left to her she'd have you trailing around in a Greek tunic and sandals, with a laurel wreath on your head."
There was an ominous pause, during which Madam's wrinkled, bony hands, flashing with diamonds, searched rapidly among the papers.
"You are all ready to start on Monday? Your clothes are in good condition, I presume?"
Eleanor brought her gaze from a detached contemplation of the ceiling to a critical inspection of her finger-nails.
"I suppose Aunt Isobel has attended to them," she said indifferently.
"Aunt Isobel, indeed!" snarled Madam. "You'd lean on a broken reed if you depended on Isobel. And Enid is no better. I attended to your clothes. I got you everything you need, even down to a new set of furs."
"Silver fox?" asked Eleanor, brightening visibly.
"No, mink. I can't abide fox. Ah! here's what I am looking for. Your ticket and berth reservation. Train leaves at ten-thirty Monday morning."
"Grandmother," ventured Eleanor, summing up courage to lead a forlorn hope, "you are just wasting money sending me back to Baltimore."
"It's my money," said the old lady grimly.