‘And I shall be there, too,’ Jerrie whispered, or rather nodded to herself.  ’I know I shall, and I do not believe one word of the Maude affair, and never will until he tells me himself, or she; and then—­well, then, I will be glad for them, until I come to be really glad myself.’

She was moving rapidly around the kitchen, for there was a great deal to be done—­the Saturday’s work and all the clothes to be ironed, and then she meant to get up some little surprise for Harold, to show him that she appreciated his thoughtfulness for her.

About half-past ten a servant from Le Bateau brought her a note from Ann Eliza, who wrote as follows.

’Dear Jerrie:—­Have pity on a poor cripple, and come as soon as you can and see her.  I sprained my ankle last night in that awful storm, and Tom had to bring me home in his arms.  Think of it, and what my feelings must have been.  I am hardly over it yet—­the queer feelings I mean—­for, of course, my ankle is dreadful, and so swollen, and pains me so that I cannot step, but must stay in my room all day.  So come as soon as possible.  You have never seen the inside of our house, or my rooms.  Come to lunch, please.  We will have it up here.  Good-bye.

    ’From your loving friend,

    ’ANN ELIZA.

    ‘P.S.—­I wonder if Tom will inquire for me.’

‘Tell her I will be there by lunch time,’ Jerrie said to the man, while to her grandmother she continued:  ’The baking and cleaning are all done, and I can finish the ironing when I get back; it will be cooler then, and I do want to see the inside of that show-house which Harold says cost a hundred thousand dollars.  Pity somebody besides the Peterkins did not live there.’

And so, about twelve o’clock Jerrie walked up to the grand house of gray stone, which, with its turrets, and towers, and immense arch over the carriage drive in front of a side door, looked like some old feudal castle, and flaunted upon its walls the money it had cost.  Even the loud bell which echoed through the hall like a town clock told of wealth and show, as did the colored man who answered the summons, and bowing low to Jerrie, held out a silver tray for her card.

‘Nonsense, Leo!’ Jerrie said, laughingly, for she had known the negro all her life and played with him, too, at times, when they both went to the district school.  ’I have no card with me.  Miss Ann Eliza has invited me to lunch, and I have come.  Tell her I am here.’

With another profound bow, Leo waved Jerrie into the reception-room, and then started to deliver her message.

Seated upon one of the carved chairs, Jerrie looked about her curiously, with a feeling that the half had not been told her, everything was so much more gorgeous and magnificent than she had supposed.  But what impressed and at the same time oppressed her most was the height of the walls from the richly inlaid floor to the gayly decorated ceiling overhead.  It made her neck ache staring up fourteen feet and a half to the costly center ornament from which the heavy chandelier depended.  All the rooms of the old house had been low, and when Peterkin built the new one, he made ample amends.