paused to glance in.

The lady was beautifully dressed, quite exquisitely, from the dainty
little toque upon her haughty head to her small gray cloth shoes. Her
eyes, flashing from pansy shades to lightest blue, were cold. Her white
skin seemed to hold no possibility of color. Yet, even as she stood, the
milk of it turned to rose when Drusilla gazed at her with no warmth of
recognition in her glance.

The boy, about twelve, Suzanna surmised correctly, stood forward. There
was some of his mother's haughtiness in his bearing, a great deal of her
beauty. But added to both, a rare, high look as though always he were
seeking what lay beyond his grasp, and perhaps his comprehension. He
seemed altogether like a child whose emotional values did not stand
clear. He gazed half prayerfully at his grandmother, as though asking
and bestowing at the same time.

Breaking into the embarrassing silence, Suzanna spoke:

"Drusilla has her crown on," she said. "You see, she's a queen now, and
she's been answering some questions of mine."

The lady in the doorway looked at Suzanna meditatively. Then she spoke
directly to Drusilla.

"May I come in, mother?" she asked. "You see I've brought Graham."

Drusilla began: "Court was in session. However, I shall be glad to have
you remain." The boy, who had remained quiet, now spoke.

"Oh, bully, mother; grandmother's playing again. I want to stay."

But his mother put out a detaining hand as he attempted to enter the
attic.

"No--we can't stay now--" She spoke directly again to Drusilla. "We'll
come again--when you are more--yourself."

In a moment she was gone down the stairs, leaving after her a soft
fragrance. The boy obediently followed her. In the hall below she
encountered the maid. She whispered a few hurried words before taking
her departure.

The maid went up immediately into the attic.

Drusilla was again talking eloquently while Suzanna and Maizie stood
listening spellbound.

"I think," said the maid, breaking in quietly but firmly, "that you
little girls had better go home now. Mrs. Bartlett is tired and I want
her to lie down."

She approached the queen. "Come, Mrs. Bartlett," she said, "you must
rest now." She raised her hand as though to remove the crown of faded
leaves.

"What means this sacrilege?" cried the queen, stepping backward.

"She likes to wear her crown when she's a queen," said Suzanna, much
distressed.

"But she can't lie down in her crown, you k