"Aunt Adelaide, imagine Aunt Adelaide on an afternoon like this."
She entered the lounge wearily, to find Miss Brent the centre of a group, the foremost in which were Mrs. Craske-Morton, Miss Wangle, and Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe. Patricia groaned in spirit; she knew exactly what had been taking place, and now she would have to explain everything. Could she explain? Had she for one moment paused to think of Aunt Adelaide, no amount of frenzy or excitement would have prompted her to such an adventure. Miss Brent would probe the mystery out of a ghost. Material, practical, level-headed, victorious, she would strip romance from a legend, or glamour from a myth.
As she entered the lounge, Patricia saw by the movement of Miss Wangle's lips that she was saying "Ah! here she is." Miss Brent turned and regarded her niece with a long, non-committal stare. Patricia walked over to her.
"Hullo, Aunt Adelaide! Who would have thought of seeing you here."
Miss Brent looked up at her, received the frigid kiss upon one cheek and returned it upon the other.
"A peck for a peck," muttered Patricia to herself under her breath.
"We've been talking about you," said Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe ingratiatingly.
"How strange," announced Patricia indifferently. "Well, Aunt Adelaide," she con-
