“She’s the only girl!” exclaimed Peter.  “You’d love her, and she’d adore you.”

“Tell me just what she looks like,” commanded mother, shutting her eyes to see the picture better.

Peter excelled himself in his description of Winifred Child.  “Nobody ever even dreamed of another girl who looked or talked or acted a bit like her,” he raved.  “She’s so original!”

“Why, but that’s just what somebody did!” mother cried, throwing off the cloak of her placidity.  “Lady Eileen.”

“Lady Eileen did what?”

“Dreamed about such a girl.  It must have been a real interesting dream, because she couldn’t get it out of her head and told me all about it.  She saw a tall, dark girl, with wonderful eyes and a fascinating mouth and graceful sort of ways like you’ve been telling me about.  Hearing Lady Eileen talk was almost like seeing a photograph.  In the dream you were in love with the girl—­English she was, too, like the real one—­and ransacking New York for her, while all the time she—–­”

“Yes—­yes, dear!  All the time she—–­”

“Lady Eileen said particularly I was to tell you about her dream and let you know she wanted you to hear it, because it seemed kind of dramatic and made her almost superstitious, it was so real every way.  But she made me promise I wouldn’t say a word unless you spoke first about such a girl as she dreamed of—­and told me you loved her and wanted to find her again.  If I began, it would spoil the romance, and there wouldn’t be anything in it.  That was how Lady Eileen felt.”

Peter listened, but his spirit had rushed on past these explanations.  Lady Eileen had chosen this method of leaving a message for him.  It was a strange method, and he did not understand why she had not herself told him of the dream.  But she was a kind and clever girl, a true friend.  There must have been a good motive for the delay.  Loyal himself, he believed in her loyalty and was grateful.  But he could not stop to think of her now.

“Where did Lady Eileen see my dryad girl—­in the dream?” he asked.

“At father’s place,” said mother simply.  “At the Hands.”

CHAPTER XXIV

THINGS EXPLODING

Lily Leavitt did not come back to Mantles next morning.  She sent no word, asked no leave for illness—­and the rule at the Hands was discharge for such an omission.  If she appeared again her place would be filled—­unless she had a strong enough “pull” to keep it open.

Win, who arrived promptly, as usual (just as if last night’s adventure had been a black dream) heard the other girls talking about Lily.  She listened and said nothing; had no opinion when asked what she thought.  But not a soul pitied Miss Leavitt.  The general idea seemed to be that she was one “who knew which side her bread was buttered.”  She would not be stopping away without notice unless she had done better for herself.  Probably she had secretly married one of those swell beaus she was always boasting about!