“Oh, Miss Jenkins,” cried the merry leader, “come quick.  We need a bush and you will make such a nice fat one.”

Before I knew what was happening I was drawn into the mad frolic, reckless of all the work piled up on my desk in the study.  I thought maybe I was growing feeble-minded, but the way to it was delightful, if foolish.

* * * * *

Strangely enough, during this time Page Hanaford did not appear.  We explained to Zura that he was present the day she made her brief call.

“Oh! do you mean the day I flew into the ‘Misty Star’ and right out again?  Yes, I remember his outlines.  Where did you find him?  Looked more like a sure-enough man than anything I’ve seen in Japan.”

Jane monopolized the talk at breakfast that morning, describing to Zura the good looks of Page Hanaford and the charm of his romantic story.

Zura seemed more amused by Jane’s manner and the funny twist in her tongue than impressed by her description.

Miss Gray finally turned to me and urged once again, “Do let’s have him to-night.  I’ll get the dinner.”

Zura clapped her hands and said eagerly, “Oh, let’s do!  I haven’t been to a party in a century.  If Miss Gray will be the ‘chefess,’ I’ll be assistant potato peeler.  I can make the best salad.  It’s called ’Salade de la Marquise de Chateaubriand’; but it won’t hurt you.  It is only peanuts and cabbage.  Daddy and I used to feast on it once a week.”

There was no resisting her enthusiasm, and I sent a note to Page Hanaford asking him to come that evening for dinner.

After all there was nothing I could label a reason why he and Zura should not meet.

Domesticity was the last thing anybody would suspect a characteristic of either Jane or Zura.  Not knowing what the result would be, I gave the cook a holiday and turned the incongruous pair loose to do as they pleased in kitchen and dining-room.

All the afternoon I was busy with my writing, but from time to time there penetrated through the closed doors of my study sounds of swift-moving feet and gay laughter.  The old house seemed infected with youth.  Contact with it was sweet.  Some of my dreams were coming true.  I found myself repeating a long-forgotten poem as I took up another stupid report.  I even hummed a tune, something I had not done in twenty years.

Just before the dinner hour Jane and Zura came into the living-room.  Evidently their work in a common cause put them on the friendliest terms.  They were arm in arm, and I knew by the set of Jane’s collar and the rose in her hair that young and skilful hands had been at work.  Zura’s white dress was dainty enough, but it seemed to melt into nothing about the neck and sleeves.  It must have been brought from America, as I had seen none like it.  Nobody could deny, however, that with her face, all aglow beneath her lustrous hair, she was a goodly sight for young and old.