“That strikes me as rather a double-edged sort of speech,” Pauline gathered up the reins.  “Good-by, and don’t get too tired.”

Shirley’s turn was to be a combination studio tea and lawn-party, to which all club members, both regular and honorary, not to mention their relatives and friends, had been bidden.  Following this, was to be a high tea for the regular members.

“That’s Senior’s share,” Shirley had explained to Pauline.  “He insists that it’s up to him to do something.”

Mr. Dayre was on very good terms with the “S.  W. F. Club.”  As for Shirley, after the first, no one had ever thought of her as an outsider.

It was hard now, Pauline thought, as she drove briskly along, the lake breeze in her face, and the sound of Bedelia’s quick trotting forming a pleasant accompaniment to her, thoughts, very hard, to realize how soon the summer would be over.  But perhaps—­as Hilary said—­next summer would mean the taking up again of this year’s good times and interests,—­Shirley talked of coming back.  As for the winter—­Pauline had in mind several plans for the winter.  Those of the club members to stay behind must get together some day and talk them over.  One thing was certain, the club motto must be lived up to bravely.  If not in one way, why in another.  There must be no slipping back into the old dreary rut and routine.  It lay with themselves as to what their winter should be.

“And there’s fine sleighing here, Bedelia,” she said.  “We’ll get the old cutter out and give it a coat of paint.”

Bedelia tossed her head, as if she heard in imagination the gay jingling of the sleighbells.

“But, in the meantime, here is the manor,” Pauline laughed, “and it’s the prettiest August day that ever was, and lawn-parties and such festivities are afoot, not sleighing parties.”

The manor stood facing the lake with its back to the road, a broad sloping lawn surrounded it on three sides, with the garden at the back.

For so many seasons, it had stood lonely and neglected, that Pauline never came near it now, without rejoicing afresh in its altered aspect.  Even the sight of Betsy Todd’s dish towels, drying on the currant bushes at one side of the back door, added their touch to the sense of pleasant, homely life that seemed to envelop the old house nowadays.

Shirley came to the gate, as Pauline drew up, Phil, Pat and Pudgey in close attention.  “I have to keep an eye on them,” she told Pauline.  “They’ve just had their baths, and they’re simply wild to get out in the middle of the road and roll.  I’ve told them no self-respecting dog would wish to come to a lawn-party in anything but the freshest of white coats, but I’m afraid they’re not very self-respecting.”

“Patience is sure Towser’s heart is heavy because he is not to come; she has promised him a lawn-party on his own account, and that no grown-ups shall be invited.  She’s sent you the promised flowers, and hinted—­more or less plainly—­that she would have been quite willing to deliver them in person.”