When they had all gone, the Maynard children looked at each other, wondering what to do next.

“You may go up to the billiard room and play, if you like,” said Grandma, benignly.  “You will not want any other supper to-night, I’m sure; so you may play up there until bedtime.”

Rosy Posy was carried away by the nurse, but the three other children started for the billiard room.  Marjorie, however, turned back to say, “We all thank you, Grandma Maynard, for the party you gave us.”

Kitty and King murmured some sort of phrase that meant about the same thing, but as they had not enjoyed the party at all they didn’t make their thanks very effusive, and then the three walked decorously upstairs.  But once inside the billiard room, with the door shut, they expressed their opinions.

“That was a high old party, wasn’t it?” said King.

“The very worst ever!” declared Kitty.  “I never got so tired of anything in my life, as I did listening to that entertaining person, or whatever they call her.”

“It was an awful poky party,” said Marjorie, “but I think we ought to give Grandma credit for meaning to give us pleasure.  Of course she’s used to children who act like that, and she couldn’t even imagine the kind of parties we have at home, where we frolic around and have a good time.  So I say don’t let’s jump on her party, but remember that she did it for us, and she did it the best she knew how.”

“You’re a good sort, Mopsy,” said King, looking at his sister affectionately.  “What you say is all right, and it goes.  Now let’s cut out that party and try to forget it.”

There were some quiet games provided for the children, and so they played parcheesi and authors until bedtime, for though the billiard room was hardly within hearing of their grandparents, yet they did not feel like playing romping games.

“I don’t think I shall ever holler again,” said King.  “I’m getting so accustomed to holding my breath for fear I’ll make too much noise that I’ll probably always do so after this.”

“No, you won’t,” said practical Kitty.  “As soon as you get away from Grandma Maynard’s house you’ll yell like a wild Indian.”

“I expect I will,” agreed King.  “Come on, let’s play Indians now.”

“Nope,” said Marjorie; “we’d get too noisy, and make mischief.  I’m going to bed; I’m awfully tired.”

“So’m I,” said Kitty.  “Parties like that are enough to wear anybody out!”

They all went downstairs to their bedrooms, but as Marjorie passed the door of her grandmother’s room, she paused and looked in.

“May I come in, Grandma?” she said.  “I do love to see you in your beautiful clothes.  You look just lovely.”

Marjorie’s compliment was very sincere, for she greatly admired her grandmother, and in spite of her formality, and even severity, Marjorie had a good deal of affection for her.

The maid was just putting the finishing touches to Mrs. Maynard’s costume, and as she stood; robed in mauve satin, with sparkling diamond ornaments, she made a handsome picture.  Mrs. Maynard was a beautiful woman, and exceedingly young-looking for her age.  There was scarcely a thread of gray in her dark brown hair, and the natural roses still bloomed on her soft cheeks.