It was quite evident that Grace Harlowe's regard for Tom held nothing of the sentimental.
"Here they are! Here are my dear Christmas children!" Mrs.Gray looked no older than when she had welcomed them to her house party eight Christmases before.

She spoke in the same sprightly manner, and smiled in the same kindly, gentle fashion that had warmed the heart of Anne Pierson when, poor and unknown, she had placed her hand in Mrs.Gray's at that first eventful freshman tea which was the beginning of happiness for her.

Anne's brown eyes filled with tears as she embraced her "fairy godmother" and heard her murmur, "My own dear Anne." "Please give Aunt Rose a chance to catch her breath and turn your attention upon me," was Tom's plaintive plea.
"We are terribly, horribly, dreadfully glad to see you!" laughed Grace, shaking Tom's hand in her boyish, energetic fashion.
"'Terribly, horribly, dreadfully!'" repeated Tom.

"Did you say this was your last year in college ?" "Don't be sarcastic," reproved Miriam.

"Circumstances alter English.
Grace was only trying to convey to you our deep appreciation of your arrival." Tom glanced almost wistfully at Grace, who had turned from him and was devoting her whole attention to Mrs.Gray.