The next day she went back to Emily, and again the lazy, comfortable days began to slip by, one just like the other.  At Christmas-time Susan was deluged with gifts, the holidays were an endless chain of good times, the house sweet with violets, and always full of guests and callers; girls in furs who munched candy as they chattered, and young men who laughed and shouted around the punch bowl.  Susan and Emily were caught in a gay current that streamed to the club, to talk and drink eggnog before blazing logs, and streamed to one handsome home after another, to talk and drink eggnog before other fires, and to be shown and admire beautiful and expensive presents.  They bundled in and out of carriages and motors, laughing as they crowded in, and sitting on each other’s laps, and carrying a chorus of chatter and laughter everywhere.  Susan would find herself, the inevitable glass in hand, talking hard to some little silk-clad old lady in some softly lighted lovely drawing-room, to be whisked away to some other drawing-room, and to another fireside, where perhaps there was a stocky, bashful girl of fourteen to amuse, or somebody’s grandfather to interest and smile upon.

Everywhere were holly wreaths and lights, soft carpets, fires and rich gowns, and everywhere the same display of gold picture frames and silver plates, rock crystal bowls, rugs and cameras and mahogany desks and tables, furs and jeweled chains and rings.  Everywhere were candies from all over the world, and fruitcake from London, and marrons and sticky candied fruit, and everywhere unobtrusive maids were silently offering trays covered with small glasses.

Susan was frankly sick when the new year began, and Emily had several heart and nerve attacks, and was very difficult to amuse.  But both girls agreed that the holidays had been the “time of their lives.”

It was felt by the Saunders family that Susan had shown a very becoming spirit in the matter of the Browning dances.  Ella, who had at first slightly resented the fact that “Brownie” had chosen to honor Emily’s paid companion in so signal a manner, had gradually shifted to the opinion that, in doing so, he had no more than confirmed the family’s opinion of Susan Brown, after all, and shown a very decent discrimination.

“No earthly reason why you shouldn’t have accepted!” said Ella.

“Oh, Duchess,” said Susan, who sometimes pleased her with this name, “fancy the talk!”

“Well,” drawled Ella, resuming her perusal of a scandalous weekly, “I don’t know that I’m afraid of talk, myself!”

“At the same time, El,” Emily contributed, eagerly, “you know what a fuss they made when Vera Brock brought that Miss De Foe, of New York!”

Ella gave her little sister a very keen look,

“Vera Brock?” she said, dreamily, with politely elevated brows.

“Well, of course, I don’t take the Brocks seriously—­” Emily began, reddening.