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dance? ”
    “ Yes, I danced. ” But here again Lucy was unable to enthuse, for although Kathleen and Clifford had both been so certain that she would enjoy it and that it would be good for her, the hour spent sitting on the fringe of a dance floor, beneath rainbow colored lighting effects, and sipping champagne at a price that she was quite sure Clifford could not afford, had almost bored her—although naturally she had not let her relatives know this.
    “ And you wore a pretty dress? ” Miranda asked, with even keener interest.
    “ Oh, yes, I wore a very pretty dress. ”
    Miranda sat back in her chair, while Lucy smiled at her, and suddenly she sighed—a sigh of the deepest satisfaction.
    “ But now that you ’ re back you ’ re not sorry, are you? You ’ re glad to know that you ’ re going to stay here, perhaps for always? And it could be for always, couldn ’ t it? ”
    Lucy met Miss Fiske ’ s eyes—sad, faded, elderly gray eyes that watched the child with a kind of haunted pity behind her back—and she heeded the little, quick shake of the head the other gave.
    “ Well, if not for always, at least for quite a while! So long as you really want me. ”
    “ I ’ ll want you for years and years! ”
    Fiske stirred her tea and sipped it—she knew no jealousy, only a desire that Miranda should be made as happy as possible.
    Miranda sighed again and continued to hug the penguin. “ It ’ s going to be grand fun, ” she declared, “ just you and me and Abbott and Fiske! ”
    But Lucy, remembering the cold eyes of Lynette Harling—strange eyes like northern ice floes, under truly amazing eyelashes—felt all at once acutely doubtful. But, mercifully, Miranda knew nothing yet of Lynette Harling. Lucy felt the urgent wish rise up within her that it might be some time—the longest possible time—before the ballerina made her inevitable impact on the life of the small invalid.

 
     

CHAPTER SIX
    But Nurse Nolan’s w ish was doomed to be one of those wishes that is not granted, for she had barely had time to settle down again at Ketterings, and feel the uneventfulness of its day-to-day routine catching her up once more, before the telephone message was received that threw the whole household into a state almost of upset.
    It was Purvis who answered the telephone, and it was Mrs. Abbott who conveyed the news to Lucy. The house was to be put into a state of complete preparedness for the reception of no less than three guests. Three guests and Sir John, who would be arriving before the weekend!
    Mrs. Abbott looked almost affronted, as well as bewildered, as she removed the dustcovers from the main drawing room that was seldom if ever used, and opened up guestrooms on the first floor that were so very splendid that they seemed to Lucy to have much more in common with state apartments than rooms wherein ordinary people would seek to enjoy a certain amount of repose. In particular, the “ white ” guestroom that Sir John had expressly requested should be made use of, and where everything was so virginally white that it could hardly have provided a better background for one who had danced her way into a good many hearts as an ice maiden. There were white-brocade curtains flowing before the big windows, a white carpet, and the only effective contrast was provided by the black-and-silver bathroom adjoining.
    Lucy helped Mrs. Abbott make up the low French bed, and she had a mental picture of the flaming red head of Lynette Harling, for, somehow, she had no doubts at all that the ballerina was to be one of the three guests, nestling deeply and luxuriously amidst the piled-up, downy pillows, with the crepe-de-chine sheet drawn up beneath her curiously pointed, but otherwise perfectly beautiful chin. And when she carried an armful of towels into the bathroom, and arranged them over the glittering towel racks, she saw Lynette reclining like Venus in the white porcelain bath, and afterward trailing back into her