"O Paul, really," Hilary sat up among her cushions--"Why, it'll
be--riches, won't it?"
"It seems so."
"But--Oh, I'm afraid you've spent all the first twenty-five on me; and
that's not a fair division--is it, Mother Shaw?"
"We used it quite according to Hoyle," Pauline insisted. "We got our
fun that way, didn't we, Mother Shaw?"
Their mother smiled. "I know I did."
"All the same, after this, you've simply got to 'drink fair, Betsy,' so
remember," Hilary warned them.
"Bedtime, Patience," Mrs. Shaw said, and Patience got slowly out of her
big, wicker armchair.
"I did think--seeing there was company,--that probably you'd like me to
stay up a little later to-night."
"If the 'company' takes my advice, she'll go, too," her mother answered.
"The 'company' thinks she will." Hilary slipped out of the hammock.
"Mother, do you suppose Miranda's gone to bed yet?"
"I'll go see," Patience offered, willing to postpone the inevitable for
even those few moments longer.
"What do you want with Miranda?" Pauline asked.
"To do something for me."
"Can't I do it?"
"No--and it must be done to-night. Mother, what are you smiling over?"
"I thought it would be that way, dear.
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