"That's because it is the first real home you've known," said Elinor. "One always feels that way about a _home_."
Judith cocked her blond head thoughtfully.
"Don't you think it's the house, too?" she asked critically. "Some houses seem to be so alive and to belong to some people. Greycroft just fitted Aunt Louise, and when she left, it was lonesome till it found someone who liked the same things she did, and then it opened its eyes and waked up again. I don't believe it would be itself with Mrs. Hand in it, or even with the Halls, though they are so sweet and fine-mannered."
"Wise Judy," commended Patricia. "You've discovered half the secret. But here's Elinor, like patience on a monument, with David's letter in her lily-white paw. What does he say, Norn? Is he coming to town this month as he promised? Does he like Prep as well as he did----"
"Do let her read it to us," begged Judith. "You chatter so, Miss Pat, that no one can get a word in edgewise."
"Fire away, Scheherezade," she commanded, folding her arms in eager attention. "Unfold the tale of the letter of the long-lost twin brother of the three lovely sisters of----"
Judith, who had muffled the sparkling stream of Patricia's nonsense, drew her hand away with a little squeal.
"_Ouch!_" she cried reproachfully. "That's not fair. You bit."
"Not hard," Patricia reassured her gravely. "Just enough to turn you loose. 'Twas not so deep as a grave nor so wide as a church door, but it did answer. Go on, Elinor, love, it's getting late."
Judith had picked up the envelope and was examining the seal.
"Isn't the frat paper lovely?" she sighed. "I do hope I shall go to college--or else have a husband who belongs to a lot of----"
Elinor, who had been quietly going on with her breakfast, laid down her fork.
"Read it for yourselves," she smiled, tossing the sheet across the table. "My time's about up. It's criticism morning in the portrait class, and I want to get a lot more done before Mr. Benton comes."
Patricia grabbed the sheet before Judith could set down her glass, and she read it aloud, with great enjoyment.
"'Dear Elinor'--begins well, doesn't it, Judy? I couldn't have done much better myself--'Tom Hughes and I are coming to town next Saturday, and we are going to blow ourselves, for his birthday.' Not very enlightening as to Tom Hughes--never heard of him before; but that's neither here nor there, of course."