The Dean was like a boy in his enjoyment of the unconventional luncheon.  He ordered a wonderful salad as his share and a pot of French cocoa.

“Doesn’t this remind you, Daphne, of some of the basket luncheons we used to have in England and France years ago?” he said, happily.

“Cousin Beth told us last year about a party she was with that went to the North Cape,” Kit related, “and just when they were all transfixed by the majesty of the midnight sun one of the ladies said it was the most unique experience of her whole life, eating crackers and cheese on the North Cape.”

“She would have left peanut shells on Fujiyama,” the Dean replied, gravely.

They reached Washington the following day, and here the weather was even milder, with almost a touch of autumn left in the air.  Christmas was Thursday, and Kit had pleaded for them not to miss Christmas Eve at home, so while the Dean took the urn up to the Institute, and left his records there, Miss Daphne and Kit spent nearly four hours driving around the city and visiting famous points of interest.

“Be sure and take a taxi, so you’ll cover more ground,” the Dean suggested when he left them, but Kit could not resist the beaming smile of one of the old-time darky coachmen, who sat drowsing on the seat of an open victoria outside the Capitol grounds.  He was dressed in an old Colonial blue livery, with a tall silk hat, curving out at the top like those of the seventies.

“But, Aunt Daphne, doesn’t he act just exactly as though he had been a retainer in our honored family for generations?” Kit regarded his back with distinct approbation as they drove along Pennsylvania Avenue, and when the old fellow raised his whip in salute to every other old retainer perched on the box of a victoria that they met, she was delighted.

The Dean joined them for dinner at one of the old exclusive hotels in the White House section of town, and here Kit fairly reveled in the general atmosphere of diplomatic tone.  She sighed involuntarily, watching a very beautiful woman who sat at an adjoining table, when she extended her hand in greeting to two foreign-appearing gentlemen in uniform, and they both bowed over it and kissed it.

“That’s the Continental custom, my dear,” Miss Daphne murmured.

“Oh, dear, I wish they’d do it here still,” Kit said.  “It makes one think of powdered hair and lovely, flouncy hoop skirts.  I’m going to practice it when I get home.”

It was not until they took the through train from Washington for New London that Kit relaxed.  It was the last home stretch, and now that the end of the journey drew near, the full importance of the Dean’s visit at such a time grew upon her.  The little hint she had given about the guest chamber being ready was the only thing that would have made the family suspect she was bringing any guests with her.  Not a word had been sent to notify them of their arrival, but the last two hours in Washington had been given up to the purchasing of gifts, and Kit had looked positively dazed when the Dean handed her twenty-five dollars with the remark: