“How noiseless falls the foot of time
      That only treads on flowers.”

“That must be the reason that I can hardly believe that three whole months have gone by since the Christmas holidays.  I’ve trodden on nothing but flowers.  Even though the school work was a hard dig sometimes, I enjoyed it, and there was always so much fun mixed up with it, that it made the time fairly fly by.  As for the five days we have been here in New York, they have simply whizzed past.  Miss ‘Henry’ has done so much to make it pleasant for us.  She is great.  She calls herself a bachelor maid, and if she is a fair sample of what they are, I’d like to be one.  The day after we came she gave a studio reception, so that we could meet some of her famous friends.  She wrote on a slip of paper, beforehand, just what each one was famous for, and the particular statue or book or painting that was his best known work, and instead of copying it, I’ll paste the page in here to save time.

“It was a great event for Betty.  Mrs. LaMotte, who does such beautiful illustrating for the magazines had seen Betty’s last story, and asked her for her next manuscript.  If she illustrates it, the pictures will be an open sesame to any editor’s attention.  She gave her so much encouragement too, and made some suggestions that Betty said would help her tremendously.

“One of the best parts of the whole affair to me was to see Joyce playing hostess in such a distinguished company.  They all seem so fond of her, and so interested in her work, that Miss Henrietta calls her ‘Little Sister to the Great.’

“I thought that I’d be so much in awe of them that I couldn’t say a word.  But I wasn’t.  They were all so friendly and ordinary in their manners and so extraordinary in the interesting things they talked about that I had a beautiful time.  I helped serve refreshments and poured tea.  After they had all gone Joyce came over and took me by the shoulders, and said ’Little Mary, is it Time or Warwick Hall that has made such a change in you?  You are growing up.  You’ve lost your self-conscious little airs with strangers and you are no longer a chatter-box.  I was proud of you!’

“Maybe I wasn’t happy!  Joyce never paid me very many compliments.  None of my family ever have, so I think that ought to have a place in my good times book.

“I’ve had a perfect orgy of sight-seeing—­gone to all the places strangers usually visit, and lots besides.  We’ve been twice to the matinee.  Phil has been here once to lunch, and is coming this afternoon to take us away out of town in a big touring-car.  We’re to stop at some wayside inn for dinner.  Then we’ll see him again when we go out to Eugenia’s for a day and night.  We’ve saved the best till the last.”

“Letters,” called Joyce, coming into the room with a handful.  “The postman was good to every one of us.”  She tossed two across the room to Betty, who sat reading on the divan, and one to Henrietta, who had just finished cleaning some brushes.