“He’s made us believe in them,” Pauline answered.

“I think Senior might have provided me with such a delightful sort of uncle,” Shirley observed.  “I told him so, but he says, while he’s awfully sorry I didn’t mention it before, he’s afraid it’s too late now.”

“Uncle Paul sent us Bedelia,” Pauline told the rather perplexed-looking Harry, “and the row-boat and the camera and—­oh, other things.”

“Because he wanted them to have a nice, jolly summer,” Shirley explained.  “Pauline’s sister had been sick and needed brightening up.”

“You don’t think he’s looking around for a nephew to adopt, do you?” Harry inquired.  “A well-intentioned, intelligent young man—­with no end of talent.”

“For making salads,” Shirley added with a sly smile.

“Oh, well, you know,” Harry remarked casually, “these are what Senior calls my ‘salad days.’”

Whereupon Shirley rose without a word, carrying off her vases of flowers.

The party at the manor was, like all the club affairs, a decided success.  Never had the old place looked so gay and animated, since those far-off days of its early glory.

The young people coming and going—­the girls in their light dresses and bright ribbons made a pleasant place of the lawn, with its background of shining water.  The tennis court, at one side of the house, was one of the favorite gathering spots; there were one or two boats out on the lake.  The pleasant informality of the whole affair proved its greatest charm.

Mr. Allen was there, pointing out to his host the supposed end of the subterranean passage said to connect the point on which the manor stood with the old ruined French fort over on the New York side.  The minister was having a quiet chat with the doctor, who had made a special point of being there.  Mothers of club members were exchanging notes and congratulating each other on the good comradeship and general air of contentment among the young people.  Sextoness Jane was there, in all the glory of her best dress—­one of Mrs. Shaw’s handed-down summer ones—­and with any amount of items picked up to carry home to Tobias, who was certain to expect a full account of this most unusual dissipation on his mistress’s part.  Even Betsy Todd condescended to put on her black woolen—­usually reserved for church and funerals—­and walk about among the other guests; but always, with an air that told plainly how little she approved of such goings on.  The Boyds were there, their badges in full evidence.  And last, though far from least, in her own estimation, Patience was there, very crisp and white and on her best behavior,—­for, setting aside those conditions mother had seen fit to burden her with, was the delightful fact that Shirley had asked her to help serve tea.

The principal tea-table was in the studio, though there was a second one, presided over by Pauline and Bell, out under the awning at the edge of the lawn.