This fortunate—­or perhaps unfortunate—­youth had never been blessed with a given name, more than the simple initial “A.”  The failure of his mother and father to agree upon a baptismal name for their only child had resulted in a deadlock; and, as the family claimed a direct descent from the famous John Paul Jones, the proud father declared that to be “a Jones” was sufficient honor for any boy; hence he should be known merely as “A.  Jones.”  The mother called her child by the usual endearing pet names until her death, after which the islanders dubbed the master’s son—­then toddling around in his first trousers—­“Ajo,” and the name had stuck to him ever since for want of a better one.

With the Bohemian indifference to household routine so characteristic of New Yorkers, the party decided to dine at a down-town restaurant before returning to Willing Square, and it was during this entertainment that young Jones first learned of the expected arrival of Maud Stanton on the following morning.  But he was no wiser than the others as to what mission could have brought the girl to New York so suddenly that a telegram was required to announce her coming.

“You see, I left Los Angeles weeks ago,” the boy explained, “and at that time Mrs. Montrose and her nieces were busy as bees and much too occupied to pay attention to a drone like me.  There was no hint then of their coming East, but of course many things may have happened in the meantime.”

The young fellow was so congenial a companion and the girls were so well aware of his loneliness, through lack of acquaintances, that they carried him home with them to spend the evening.  When he finally left them, at a late hour, it was with the promise to be at the station next morning to meet Maud Stanton on her arrival.

CHAPTER II

THE ARRIVAL OF THE GIRL

A sweet-faced girl, very attractive but with a sad and anxious expression, descended from the Pullman and brightened as she found her friends standing with outstretched arms to greet her.

“Oh, Maud!” cried Patsy, usurping the first hug, “how glad I am to see you again!”

Beth looked in Maud Stanton’s face and forbore to speak as she embraced her friend.  Then Jones shook both hands of the new arrival and Uncle John kissed her with the same tenderness he showed his own nieces.

This reception seemed to cheer Maud Stanton immensely.  She even smiled during the drive to Willing Square—­a winning, gracious smile that would have caused her to be instantly recognized in almost any community of our vast country; for this beautiful young girl was a famous motion picture actress, possessing qualities that had endeared her to every patron of the better class photo-dramas.

At first she had been forced to adopt this occupation by the stern necessity of earning a livelihood, and under the careful guidance of her aunt—­Mrs. Jane Montrose, a widow who had at one time been a favorite in New York social circles—­Maud and her sister Florence had applied themselves so intelligently to their art that their compensation had become liberal enough to enable them to save a modest competence.