Bab kept stealing perplexed glances at Mr. Stuart. Something was on the young woman's mind, but she did not give expression to the thought. In the meantime the girls were chattering at a rapid rate. Through Madison Street they traveled and into Michigan Avenue, where a gust of biting wind fresh from Lake Michigan smote them in the face.
"Oh, look at the river!" cried Mollie.
"That's Lake Michigan, you goose," answered Ruth, laughing merrily. "How insulting to call our lake a river. But here we are."
The car swung into a driveway, coming to a halt before an imposing residence, four stories high, overlooking the lake.
"What is this great building?" questioned Mollie.
"This is where we live, dear," answered Ruth. "This is my home."
"Oh, dear me, I thought it was the Chicago public library," retorted Mollie.
"Molliekins, what are we going to do with you?" chided Ruth, laughing.
The other girls were already running up the broad stone steps. The doors swung open and the next second Barbara, Mollie and Grace threw themselves into the arms of Miss Sallie Stuart. There was a volley of little screams of delight and any number of resounding smacks. Mr. Stuart had followed them in. He stood with his back to the door, smiling contentedly on the joyous scene. He had come to love the three girls with a love that was not far behind his affection for his own daughter Ruth.
The girls having released Miss Sallie from their embrace, Ruth dragged her friends upstairs. They were first shown to their own rooms, and wonderful rooms they were. None of the three girls from Kingsbridge ever had seen anything to compare with the beauty of these handsome apartments. A few minutes later they were in Ruth's private sitting room, the walls of which were done in pale blue silk. The furniture was of old mahogany and on a dainty writing desk the girls found paper and envelopes bearing the monogram "A. G." Ruth had had these prepared for the girls' use.