An unusually subdued quartet of fair young maidenhood kept company at breakfast next morn. Their youthful countenances reflected pale and listless in the shining mahogany of Lady Agatha’s grand dining table; a table much like the great lady herself, having been brought at untold trouble and expense from the feudal halls of the ancient Alicyns to grace the home and ennoble the name of the wealthy, powerful Rooths. Unlike many such arrangements, uniform satisfaction had been the result of this delicate transfer, and the newly-made Lord Rooth was expertly managed by his lady wife throughout a happy life into a quiet, content grave.

Now Lady Agatha had the management of two young nieces and their two bosom friends in their first season of B____ society, and her commitment to duty was equaled only by her determination to see her bevy of girls take their places at the pinnacle of the season’s festivities. She soon proved a fierce but able general in the forays and skirmishes of the social whirl; though she could check Annabelle’s riotous spirits with one stern glance, the girls were gowned, coiffed, slipper’d and gloved to a vain young lady’s highest standards and infinite delight. Though Eustacia was warned not to ruin her eyes with needless reading, that learned miss had unchecked access to the library; and if Polly’s emotions seemed overwrought and changeable to the doughty dame, a dainty tray of cocoa and biscuits seemed to manifest itself whenever it was most needed, no matter the hour. Even the shy, sylph-like Lorelei, whose elusive grace and endearing charm had heretofore entirely escaped her own notice, was beginning to color and blossom under Lady Agatha’s unobtrusive encouragement, and more than one dowager that season had watched with despair as “that quiet girl” effortlessly collected the beaus of her own showier offshoot.

Lady Agatha read her morning letters in the strangely quiet breakfast room, noticing at last the wan faces of her protegées.

“Annabelle, are you asleep at the table?” she snapped.”What is it, child? Are you ill?”

“No, Aunt,” answered her niece with a start, opening her eyes as wide as possible while Eustacia stifled a yawn.

“What has come over this household? Don’t tell me that four healthy young girls are exhausted after a rare evening at home. Why, Pollyanna looks as though she’s been reading Lord Byron all night…”

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Polly. “I … I may have a cold, Lady Agatha; that is all, surely!”

The mistress of Rooth House surveyed her charges with a piercing gaze. “A cold, or a late night of giggling and gossiping? We have a busy week ahead, and I cannot have you making yourselves ill. Off to bed, all of you, as soon as you have made a reasonable breakfast. Jackson will look in on you while I am paying my morning calls.” Lady Agatha gathered her skirts, rose from the table with decorous majesty, and as was the charming old custom, all the girls rose, too.

“Good day, Aunt. Good day, Lady Agatha,” they chorused as she swept from the room, pausing only to hand a letter with multitudes of foreign stamps to Eustacia.

“Who has written you, Stacia?” queried Lorelei as they all collapsed gratefully into less upright modes of repose.

“My uncle,” replied Eustacia, looking uncommonly pleased.

“Oh! Count Eugenio!” cried Polly. “How exciting! How lucky you are to have such a dashing and adventurous guardian – shall we hear some of the letter?”

“Count Eugenio!” retorted Annabelle, with a noise that in one less ladylike might well have been termed a snort. “Uncle Eugene, you mean. He’s no more Italian than I am; and as for being a count, well…”

“He can style himself the Grand Vizier of the Eastern Isles for all I care, Anna,” replied Eustacia with surprising patience. “He has been the most kind and attentive uncle in the world, and has done his utmost to take the places of my dear parents.”

Annabelle had the grace to look abashed. “He is a darling, Stacia. I did not mean to speak so unkindly – and he does write the most fascinating letters!”

Lorelei rose from the table. “Perhaps we’ll hear some of his adventures once Stacia has the chance to read them herself – in the meantime, hadn’t we better settle ourselves upstairs before Jackson comes to shepherd us to bed? She’ll only check once – you know how she hates the stairs – and then we can all meet in Anna’s room to hear the letter.”

“NO!” exclaimed Annabelle, as she spied Polly hurrying for the door. “Not the letter – Polly’s adventures of last night!”

Pollyanna, stricken, stood in the doorway as her friends cluster’d round.

“You did startle us,” remarked Eustacia. “I almost ran out without… my book… and the poker… where WERE you, Polly?”

Lorelei joined in with a soft,”Won’t you feel better if you tell us, dearest?”

“Oh…” quavered Polly.

Annabelle, in her most persuasive tones, added,”It wasn’t Lord William’s brother, was it? Do tell, Polly.”

“No!” cried the blushing maid. “It was – it was – Drusus Thomason!” And she fled pell-mell up the stairs, weeping again.

Lorelei and Eustacia, shocked beyond words, simply stared at each other.

“Who? Who on earth is he?” demanded Annabelle, utterly at a loss.