“We feared you were lost,” said Mrs. Austin. “We thought we’d go somewhere and get a light supper. Mr. Barstow is sure to have a big feast in the course of the evening, so we must save our appetites for that. Are you going to wear that dress, Ellen? If you are not, skurry into another one.”
“We should dress up, I suppose.”
“Oh, yes, this is a gala occasion. Put on your very flossiest.”
Ellen, eager to wear the white crêpe, lost no time in getting into it, and appeared promptly to exhibit herself to her hostess.
“What a lovely dress!” she exclaimed. “You look perfectly dear in it. Did you get it in Marshville?”
“Well, yes, I did and I didn’t. Do you know a Mary West, from Baltimore, Mrs. Austin?”
“Never heard of the lady. Who is she?”
“I don’t know, and thought perhaps you could tell me.” Then she related the tale of the mysterious box, giving Miss Rindy’s theory regarding the sender.
Mrs. Austin was interested at once. “Whoever she is, she has mighty good taste,” she declared. “I noticed what a swagger coat and hat you had as soon as I set my eyes on you, and that pretty wool dress you have been wearing is quite out of the common,—nothing you could pick up on a bargain counter. Come along, honey child, I am very proud of you. Phil is pacing the studio like a caged lion, so we’d better not tarry.”
They took their meal at a French pastry shop near by, and then went on to Mr. Barstow’s studio which was not far away. They found their host dancing around in great excitement. He was a little wiry man with a bald head, dark eyes, large nose, and humorous mouth. He grabbed Ellen’s hands and danced her across the floor to where a table was littered with paper and string.