Cousin Patty rose. "I wanted to know what to wear, and we've talked an hour, and haven't said a word about it."
"Don't bother," Mary said; "there'll be just four of us."
"But I want to bother. Roger helped me to plan my things. He remembered every single dress you wore while he was here."
"Really?" The look which Roger had loved was creeping into Mary's clear eyes. "Really, Cousin Patty?"
"Yes. He drew a sketch of your velvet wrap with the fur, and I made mine like it, only I put a frill in place of the fur." She trotted into her room and brought it back for Mary's inspection. "Is it all right?" she asked, anxiously, as she slipped it on, and craned her neck in front of Aunt Isabelle's long mirror to see the sweep of the folds.
"It is perfect; and to think he should remember."
Cousin Patty gave her a swift glance. "That isn't all he has remembered," she said, succinctly.
It developed when they went down for dinner that Roger had ordered a box of flowers for them—purple violets for Aunt Isabelle and Cousin Patty, white violets for Mary.
"How lovely," Mary said, bending over the box of sweetness. "I am perfectly sure no one ever sent me white violets before."
There were other flowers—orchids from Porter.