On the whole, Elise wore rather well. Although belonging to the millionaire classes of the city, she was simple and unaffected, and never referred to her wealth by word or implication. From the first she was devoted to Patty, and in spite of her many peculiarities Patty thoroughly liked her. Clementine considered her cranky and Adelaide thought her too much inclined to dictate. But Elise was entirely indifferent to their opinions, and independently followed her own sweet will. If she wanted things done a certain way, she said so, and somehow they were done that way. If the other girls objected, she quietly ignored their objections and proceeded serenely on her course. The result of this was that the others regarded her with mingled dissatisfaction and admiration, neither of which at all affected Elise.

She made one exception of Patty. She was always willing to defer to Patty’s wishes, or change her plans in accordance with Patty’s ideas.

Still, as Elise was so good-natured, generous and entertaining, the girls really liked her, and she proved to be a real acquisition to the society of Grigs.

On Thursday afternoon she invited them all to go home with her and play in the Casino.

The girls went directly from school, and a short walk brought them to Elise’s home.

The Farrington house was really a mansion, and by far the most magnificent and imposing dwelling that Patty had ever been in. The eight girls ran up the steps and the door was opened by a footman in livery. The great hall seemed to Patty like a glimpse into fairyland. Its massive staircase wound around in a bewildering way, and beautiful palms and statues stood all about. The light fell softly through stained-glass windows, and to Patty’s beauty-loving soul it all seemed a perfect Elysium of form and colour.

She almost held her breath as she looked, but Elise seemed to take it as a matter of course, and said, “Come on into the library, girls, and leave your books and things.”

The library was another revelation of art and beauty, and Patty wondered if the other girls were as much impressed as herself by Elise’s home. It was not only that unlimited wealth had been used in the building and furnishing, but somebody’s exquisite and educated taste had directed the expenditure; and it was this that appealed so strongly to Patty, though she did not herself understand it.

There was another occupant of the library, whom Elise presented as her brother Roger. He was a boy of about nineteen, with dark hair and eyes, like his sister’s, and a kind, frank face. He greeted the girls pleasantly, without a trace of awkwardness, but after a few casual remarks he turned aside from the laughing group and stared moodily out of the window.

“Poor old Roger,” said Elise to Patty, in a low voice, “he’s in a most awful fit of the blues. Do go and say a few cheering words to him, there’s a good Grig.”

Always ready to cast a ray of sunshine into anybody’s life, Patty went toward the disconsolate-looking boy.

“How can you look so sad?” she said, “with a whole room full of merry Grigs?”

“Because I’m not a Grig, I suppose,” said Roger. He spoke politely enough, but seemed not at all anxious to pursue the conversation. But Patty was not so easily daunted.

“Of course, you can’t be a member of our society,” she said, “but couldn’t you be just a little bit griggy on your own account?”

“My own account doesn’t call for grigginess just at present.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, I have troubles of my own.”

“All the more reason for being merry. How do you expect to get the better of your troubles if you don’t have fun with them?”

Roger looked at her with a little more interest.

“The trouble that’s bothering me hasn’t come yet,” he said; “it’s only an anticipation now.”

“Then perhaps it never will come, and you might as well be merry and take your chances.”

“No, it’s bound to come, and there’s nothing merry about it; it’s just horrid!”

“Won’t you tell me what it is?” said Patty, gently, seeing that the boy was very much in earnest.

“Would you really like to know?”

“Yes, indeed; perhaps I could help you.”

Roger smiled. “No,” he said, “you can’t help me; nobody can help me. It’s only this; I’ve got to have my arm broken.”

“What?” exclaimed Patty, looking at the stalwart youth in amazement. “Who’s going to break it?”

“I don’t know whether to go to the circus, and let a lion break it, or whether to fall out of an automobile,” and Roger smiled quizzically at Patty’s bewildered face.

“Oh, you’re only fooling,” she said, with a look of relief; “I thought you were in earnest.”

“And so I am,” said Roger, more seriously. “This is the truth: I broke my arm playing football, a year ago, and when it was set it didn’t knit right, or it wasn’t set right, or something, and now I can’t bend my elbow at all.” Roger raised his right arm and showed that he was unable to bend it at the elbow-joint. “It’s awfully inconvenient and awkward, as you see; and the only remedy is to have it broken and set over again, and so that’s the proposition I’m up against.”

“And a mighty hard one, too,” said Patty with a sudden rush of genuine sympathy. “Are you going to the hospital?”

“Yes; mother wants it done at home—thinks I could be more comfortable, and all that. But I’d rather go to the hospital; it’s more satisfactory in every way. But it will be a long siege. Now, Miss Grig, do you see anything particularly merry in the outlook?”

“Will the breaking part hurt?” asked Patty.

“No, I shall probably be unconscious during the smash. But what I dread is lying still for several weeks bound up in splints. And I can’t play in the game this season.”

“You couldn’t, anyway, if you didn’t have it broken, could you?”

“No, of course not.”

“And you never can play football again if you don’t have it broken and reset?”

“No.”

“Well, then, the outlook is decidedly merry. The idea of your objecting to the inconveniences of three or four weeks, when it means a life............