Philip’s grandfather had one time been headmaster of a school so imitative of Eton and Harrow that the whole house spoke with a British accent. It had been Mrs. McAllister’s custom, in his lifetime, to have a “day” for chosen boys and because often as many as forty had dropped in, she had entertained them at an immensely long table in the dining room. Although now there were never more than half a dozen people to be served, twenty chairs were in readiness and as many cups stood before the tea urn. We were fed the simple food the boys had been fed: gingerbread squares, small sweet buns, and English muffins. On the preposterous plea that she could not handle “them all” by herself, she always placed Hopestill at the opposite end of the table so that the poor exile’s voice barely carried to us, while I was seated on her right (“I never have time to get really acquainted with this young lady”) and Philip on her left (“So that he can fetch and carry for me.”).

Hopestill spoke of the old lady’s “closed door” policy while the one employed by her daughter, Philip’s mother, was the “open trap.” The younger Mrs. McAllister joined us today a few minutes after we had taken our places. Her pretty, submissive face was framed with white hair, the overnight acquisition at the time her son fell ill of infantile paralysis. After kissing her mother and nodding politely to me, she went at once to Hopestill whose two hands she clasped as she cried, “How glad I am to see you! Here, let me feast on that exquisite frock. Who but Hope Mather would think of bottle-green velveteen this year when the rest of us are all in navy blue?”

Hope, complimenting her in turn on her hat, exchanged an amused glance with Philip while his grandmother said, “Bottle-green is very nice. Marian, would you look at this child’s nautical costume. I swear she robbed Admiral Nephews for her buttons. Why, they’re the real thing.”

Her daughter nodded and turned again to Hopestill. “When are you going to let me have the honor of supplying you with a dressing room? I do think you’re unkind to give my mother all the pleasure. I have three rooms that are never in use, and if you’d only consent I could have more than these five-minute glimpses of you. I’ll tell you frankly that if I once got you, I’d kidnap you for a whole week-end.”

Philip, knowing that his mother would make use of such an opportunity to satisfy so completely any curiosity the girl might have about him that she would never want to hear his name mentioned again, hastily interposed, “But, Mother, they would have to be driven from the station then, for they couldn’t possibly walk to our house and the walk to Grandma’s, as I understand it, is part of the expedition.” Both Hope and I confirmed him, but his mother was stubborn.