She almost held her breath as she looked, but Elise seemed to take it as a matter of course, and said, “Come on into the library, girls, and leave your books and things.”
The library was another revelation of art and beauty, and Patty wondered if the other girls were as much impressed as herself by Elise’s home. It was not only that unlimited wealth had been used in the building and furnishing, but somebody’s exquisite and educated taste had directed the expenditure; and it was this that appealed so strongly to Patty, though she did not herself understand it.
There was another occupant of the library, whom Elise presented as her brother Roger. He was a boy of about nineteen, with dark hair and eyes, like his sister’s, and a kind, frank face. He greeted the girls pleasantly, without a trace of awkwardness, but after a few casual remarks he turned aside from the laughing group and stared moodily out of the window.
“Poor old Roger,” said Elise to Patty, in a low voice, “he’s in a most awful fit of the blues. Do go and say a few cheering words to him, there’s a good Grig.”
Always ready to cast a ray of sunshine into anybody’s life, Patty went toward the disconsolate-looking boy.
“How can you look so sad?” she said, “with a whole room full of merry Grigs?”
“Because I’m not a Grig, I suppose,” said Roger. He spoke politely enough, but seemed not at all anxious to pursue the conversation. But Patty was not so easily daunted.
“Of course, you can’t be a member of our society,” she said, “but couldn’t you be just a little bit griggy on your own account?”
“My own account doesn’t call for grigginess just at present.”
“Why not?”