ifted to the all-important reception which was
so close at hand, and to which both girls were looking forward with such
expectation. Bridgie related the latest arrangements for the
entertainment of some three hundred guests, while her friend listened
with eager attention. Esmeralda was sparing neither money nor pains to
make the evening one of the events of the season. Singers and musicians
whose names were known throughout Europe were to perform at intervals in
the great drawing-room; the hall and staircase were to be transformed
into a bower of roses, pink La France roses here, there, and everywhere,
wreathed round the banisters, massed on the window-sills and
mantelpieces, hanging in great golden baskets from the ceiling. Rose-
coloured shades were to soften the glare of the electric lights; the air
was to be kept cool by great blocks of ice, and scented fountains rising
from banks of moss and ferns; the conservatory was to be illuminated by
jewelled lanterns.

It sounded like a fairy-tale to the girl in the unfashionable suburb,
and she would have been less than human if she had not counted the hours
which must elapse before the evening arrived. Bridgie thought it a pity
that the guests could not be labelled for the edification of the
unsophisticated, but Sylvia's greatest interest was centred on figures
which were too familiar to be mistaken. The whole entertainment was, in
truth, but a gorgeous setting to that conversation with Jack, which
might be their last _tete-a-tete_ for so long to come.

The dressmaker who was preparing Miss Trevor's dress for the great
occasion had seldom had more difficulty in satisfying an employer, and
the sum total expended on fineries would have horrified Miss Munns if
she had been allowed to see the bills. Even Sylvia winced when she
added up the figures, but she repeated sturdily the old phrase, "Dad
won't mind!" and felt secure that she would meet with no worse reprimand
than a little good-natured banter. On the whole she had been very
economical during her stay in England, and her conscience did not
upbraid her concerning this one extravagance.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

A TELEGRAM.

As soon as her room was in order on the day of the reception, Sylvia
began the delightful task of opening boxes and parcels, and laying their
contents on the bed. The satin skirt was spread out with careful
fingers, and over it a foam of frills and flounces which must surely
have grown