Promptly at the hour agreed upon, Phil met them at the milliner’s.  As Betty predicted he did laugh at the huge square bandbox which Mary clung to, and inquired for the bird-cage which was supposed to be its companion piece.  But Mary paid little heed to his teasing, upheld by the thought of that perfect dream of a white hat which the derided box contained.  Her only regret was that she could not wear it for him to see.  Joyce and the mirror both assured her that it was the most becoming one she ever owned, and it seemed a pity that it was not suitable for motoring.  The wearing of it would have added so much to her pleasure.  However, the thought of it, and of the new dress that was to be sent up in the morning, ran through her mind all that afternoon, like a happy undercurrent.  She said so once, when Phil asked her what she was smiling about all to herself.

“It’s just as if they were singing a sort of alto to what we are doing now, and making a duet of my pleasure; a double good time.  Oh, I wish Jack could be here to see how happy he has made me!”

The grateful thought of him found expression a dozen times during the course of the drive.  When they stopped for dinner at the quaint wayside inn she wished audibly that he were there.  Somehow, into the keen enjoyment of the day crept a wistful longing to see him again, and the ache that caught her throat now and then was almost a homesick pang.  Going back, as they sped along in the darkness towards the twinkling lights of the vast city, she decided that she would write to him that very night, before she went to sleep, and make it clear to him how much she appreciated all he had done for her.  He was the best brother in the world, and the very dearest.

Phil went up with them when they reached the entrance to the flats.  He could not stay long, he said, but he must see the contents of that bandbox.  The air of the studio was heavy with the fragrance of the Easter lilies, and he went about opening windows at Joyce’s direction, while she and the other girls unwound themselves from the veils in which they had been wrapped, and put a few smoothing touches to their wind-blown hair.  Joyce was the first to come back to the studio.  She carried a letter which she had picked up in the hall.

“This seems to be a day for letters,” she remarked.  “This is a good thick one from home.”  She made no movement to open it then, thinking to read it aloud after Phil had taken his leave.  But when Mary joined them, and he seemed absorbed in the highly diverting process they made of trying on the new hat, she opened the envelope to glance over the first few pages.  She read the first paragraph with one ear directed to the amusing repartee.  Then the smile suddenly left her face, and with a startled exclamation she turned back to re-read it, hurrying on to the bottom of the page.

“Oh, what is it?” cried Mary in alarm.  Joyce had looked up with a groan, her face white and shocked.  She was trembling so that the letter shook perceptibly in her hand.