e elaborate coiffure had
been coaxed skilfully into place by a hand that understood the cunning,
and wherever nature had been guilty of an oversight art had supplied
the defect. Yes, Cynthia Galbraith was quite a perfect product,
thought Bob, as he surveyed her there beneath the awning.

"I thought Madam Lee was here," the young man presently remarked, as he
glanced about.

Mrs. Galbraith's face clouded.

"Mother is not well to-day," she answered. "Careful as we are of her
she has in some way taken cold. She is not really ill, but we thought
it wise for her to keep her room. She is heartbroken not to be
downstairs and I promised that after she had had her luncheon and nap
you would go up and see her."

"Surely!" Robert Morton cried emphatically.

"Mother is so devoted to you, Bobbie," went on Mrs. Galbraith.
"Sometimes I think she cares much more for you than she does for her
own grandchildren."

"Nonsense! Of course she doesn't."

"I'm not so certain," laughed the elder woman lightly. "You know she
is tremendously strong in her likes and dislikes. All the Lees are.
We're a headstrong family where our affections are concerned. You,
Bob, are the apple of her eye."

"She has always been mighty kind to me," the young man affirmed
soberly. "I never saw my own grandmothers; both of them died before I
came into the world. So, you see, if it were not for borrowing Roger's
and Cynthia's, I should be quite bereft."

The party rose and moved through the cool hall into the dining room.

A delicious luncheon, perfectly served by a velvet-footed maid and the
old colored butler, followed, and there was a great deal of
conversation, a great deal of reminiscing and a great deal of laughter.

Cynthia complained that the claret cup was too sweet and that the ices
were not frozen enough and had much to say of the ice cream at
Maillard's.

"But you are far from Maillard's now, my dear," her mother remarked,
"and you must make the best of things."

"Being on Cape Cod you are almighty lucky to get any ice cream at all,"
announced Roger with brotherly zest.

"Roger, why will you tease your sister so? You hector Cynthia every
moment you are in the house."

"Oh, she knows I don't mean it," grinned Roger. "I just have to take
the starch out of her now and then, don't I, Cynthia Ann?"

"Roger!" fretted his sister. "I wish you wouldn't call me Cynthia
_Ann_! I can't imagine why you've taken to doing so lately."