"Your portrayal of Loyalheart was wonderful." "And so was your coaching," retorted Grace, promptly.
"It is far from early," remarked Elfreda in a suggestive tone, as they halted for a moment at the head of the stairs, "but we are all here, and I know how to make fruit punch.

In fact, I got the stuff ready, thinking that it might be useful!" "We will be in your room within the next ten minutes," said Grace decisively.

"Such hospitality is not met with every day." True to her word, ten minutes later she and Anne were seated on the foot of Elfreda's bed, kimono clad and smiling, while Elfreda labored with the fruit punch.

Kathleen West and Patience Eliot, who had also been invited to the punch party, were seated on cushions on the floor.
Suddenly the soft tinkle of a mandolin sounded under the window, then a chorus of fresh young voices sang softly: "Come, tune your lyre to Kathleen West, Of all the plays hers is the best; Long may she shine, long may she wave, Her shrine we deck with garlands brave; May Fortune bring her world renown-- To Kathleen West, girls, drink her down." "How perfectly sweet in them!" exclaimed Kathleen, her color rising.
"Hush!" Miriam held up her finger.
"Dear Loyalheart, we sing to you, O girl so brave and sweet and true, May life to you be wondrous kind, And may you all its treasures find; May skies ne'er threaten you, nor frown-- To Loyalheart, girls, drink her down." Owing to the lateness of the play no one at Wayne Hall had had time to retire, and, hearing the music, the girls had with one accord hurried to the windows.
"Come on up, Gertrude," called Grace into the soft darkness.

"I know your voice.