“When is it dated?” asked Mary. 70
“July 20th,” Virginia told her. “The very day you people came. You see, ’twas too early then for any trouble. Would you rather wait to hear it, Aunt Nan, until you’ve read your mail?”
Aunt Nan’s mail was unimportant, she said, compared to a letter from the interesting Blackmore twins.
“It’s a regular book,” announced Virginia, as she settled herself against a post, and turned the pages. “Jean probably didn’t do much sight-seeing on the afternoon she wrote this.
“‘Safe at last in Berlin, Germany,
“‘July 20, 19—.
“‘Dear Virginia and Everybody Else:
“‘It is only through Anne’s economy and Jess’ impudence and my genius at conducting a party that we are here and writing to you. Had each of us lacked the quality named above, we should to-day doubtless be languishing within the walls of a German poor-house. But instead we are in a lovely pension—all together and unspeakably happy. 71
“‘The story in itself is so thrilling that I hate to give you the necessary setting, as Miss Wallace would say, but I must. The first step is to explain how we all happen to be together. It was this way: Father and Jess and I did stay in England for a week after all. You see, Jess had faithfully promised every girl in English History that she would see Lady Jane Grey’s name where she had cut it herself in the Tower; and I had given my oath to record the impressions made upon me by the sight of Kenilworth by moonlight. Whether Dad would have considered those vows worthy or not, we do not know, had it not been that he wanted to go to the Bodleian Library at Oxford to see some musty old manuscript or other. So on our way from Liverpool to Oxford we stopped at Kenilworth, and I did see it at moonlight. I shall give my impressions at a later date. The search for another old manuscript gave Jess her chance at the Tower and “JANE,” and it was there in the little chapel that we met Anne and Mrs. Hill.
“‘They had planned the most wonderful week 72 down in Surrey in a tiny English village called Shere, which Anne said was, according to the guide-books, “the perfect realization of an artist’s dream.” She begged us to go along with them, and poor Mrs. Hill, I suppose, felt obliged to invite us also, though what she may have said to Anne in private I do not yet know. We became imbued with desire to see the artist’s dream realized and to be with Anne, so with Jess to hurry Mrs. Hill and me to drag Anne, we tore through Billingsgate fish-market and up King William Street to the Bank, where we were to meet Father.