“I don’t know.  We’ll talk about it again.”

“Well, run along now,” commanded the girl with a pretty air of superiority.  “Why don’t you join in with that milkmaid and Pocahontas?  They are charming—­both of them.”

“I think I will just run along with—­Rosebud,” he answered, and he drew her arm more firmly within his own as they advanced toward the fairy tables set about all over the lawn, where, as the repast was served, masks were suddenly taken off, and the merrymakers were treated to many surprises.

“Oh!” cried the pretty milkmaid to Hiawatha.  “How could you—­Jack Kimball?”

“Oh!” answered Jack, who had quite recovered from his little auto accident.  “Oh!  How could you—­Bess?  And you know perfectly well you did squeeze my hand—­once.”

“Oh, you horrid boy, I did not!”

“Well, you may now, if you like,” and he extended it, but Bess drew back.

“And to think,” cried the beautiful Psyche, who was Belle Robinson, “that I have actually been—­”

“Letting a perfectly strange chap make love to you!” added Paul, helping her out, for Paul was Marc Anthony, and had spent considerable time with Belle.

“Oh!” cried the girl, recovering herself quickly.  “Was that—­ making—­love?” and she looked archly at him.

“I—­er—­I rather hoped it was,” he replied grimly.

Night—­Hazel, you must know—­had been flitting around with Hiawatha and the clown, but toward the end the latter had attached himself to her, to the exclusion of the Indian youth, and now Walter Pennington, with a shake of his head which set all the foolish little bells to ringing, told Paul’s sister how delighted he was to renew his acquaintance with her.

Adonis and Rosebud had a table directly under the umbrella tree.

“I must run in-doors for a second,” Cora whispered to Ed when the ices were being passed.  “I want to speak to Jack.  I just saw him going in.”

“May I come?”

“With me?”

“Yes.  You see, those bonds are burning a hole in well, in my lace handkerchief, and I wish Jack would put them in the safe in the house.”

“Why, certainly.  Come along.  But see, there is Antonio—­and the nun is not with him.”

“Yes,” spoke Ed.  “I saw her go away with Priscilla.”

“Priscilla?”

“Yes; and John Alden never spoke for himself.”

“Priscilla,” murmured Cora.  “Do you know who she was?”

“No.  Who?”

“Mary Downs.”

“Mary—­why, I thought she was out of town.”

“She was, but she came back to-day, and I helped her fix up a costume.  And so the nun went off with her?”

Cora walked slowly toward the house, Ed following.

CHAPTER XX

THE AFTERMATH

Ed Foster and Jack Kimball sat in the library of the latter’s home until quite late that night—­long after the merrymakers had departed.