"It's a good thing you two innocents have a responsible person like Judith to look after you," he said seriously. "I don't know what you'd do without a protector to play providence for you."

Judith flushed and tossed her mane with a gratified air. "Oh, they don't think much of _me_," she rejoined. "They make fun of me lots of times."

"Is that so?" said Bruce, with great concern. "I'm sorry to hear that.

I tell you what, Judy, we'll form a partnership, you and I, and we'll see to it that they behave themselves better in the future. They've proved that they can't take proper care of themselves, so we'll have to play guardian angels."

Elinor merely smiled her gentle, affectionate smile, but Patricia rippled out in mocking laughter.

"I like that!" she cried. "Who took care of us all those years when we were poor and alone in the world? It's late in the day for Elinor to need protectors."

"Nevertheless, she's going to have 'em," declared Bruce with undisturbed geniality. "You may mock us and you may shock us and you may say you don't care, but we're on the job for keeps, aren't we, Judith, _ma chere_? And the first step we're going to take in our new position is to drag you both off to luncheon this very minute. You'd best give in gracefully, for both Judy and I are fearfully strong and ferocious."

Judith giggled, but Patricia rose briskly.

"I guess you won't have to chloroform us to drag us there this time,"

she retorted. "I'm glad we're presentable, anyway. Aren't you thankful I made you put on your best duds, Norn? There's nothing like being contented when one feeds, and I couldn't partake of the stalled ox with any satisfaction in my old school rags."

Judith cuddled close to Bruce on the settee while Elinor went for her wraps.

"Patricia's awfully superficial, I think," she confided to him cheerfully, as she watched her readjusting her bright hair beneath the pretty hat rim at the quaint old mirror of the bookcase. "She's so set on pretty things. She just worships anyone who is pretty--no matter whether she understands their character or not. I wish we could make her more serious-minded and careful."

"Pooh," said Patricia, turning from her own reflection with a gay laugh. "You don't need to try. I do worship beauty, and I always shall. I like to laugh and sing and be happy. I like blue skies because G.o.d made them that way. And I don't think a pink rose is wickeder for being pink than if it were grubby gray. _I_ think being happy is the serious business of life--when you take other people in with you--and I reckon G.o.d thinks so too."

"Pa-tri-cia!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Judith in prim rebuke, but Bruce gave her hand a restraining squeeze, and Patricia went on, glowing with earnestness.

"There isn't any more goodness in dismal looks, no, nor half so much, as in happy faces. Don't the cherubim sing eternally? Is there anything said about dark days in the New Jerusalem? I'm ashamed of you, Judith Kendall, for not knowing that it's twice as brave and good to be cheerful and pretty as it is to be moping and dull. Look at Elinor--would we love her if she'd been fussing about the hard times we had? Not much! Every bright smile she had for those horrid times has made her more adorable to me and I look on every bit of happiness we had in those poor days as just so much wrested from the powers of darkness." She stopped suddenly, with a little gasp of embarra.s.sment, as Elinor entered.

"Patricia's spouting again," remarked Judith with the serene cruelty of extreme youth. "I didn't mind, because I'm used to it, but I guess Bruce is thankful you didn't keep us any longer, Elinor."

Bruce rose and held out his hand to Patricia, who was flushing painfully.

"Don't mind the kid, Miss Pat dear," he said, with his most winning smile. "She doesn't know any better yet. Your religion is the sort we've got to _grow_ into, and, even then, some of us aren't ever quite big enough to realize it."

Judith's face had been undergoing swift changes during this short speech, but now it cleared and a beatific expression shone upon it.

"I know what you mean, now, Miss Pat," she declared loftily. "I've read it in Stevenson's verses, about 'those who . . . sow gladness in the peopled lands,' Isn't that it, Bruce? I didn't _quite_ understand the way Patricia put it, but I think it's perfectly lovely, really I do."

Bruce pinched her cheek, with a tolerant laugh.

"It's all right, so long as it's in a book, eh?" he asked. "What a perfect little chameleon you are, Judy Kendall. I don't know whether to take you into the grand surprise that I'm going to spring on these two young ladies, or leave you at the nearest library while I disclose my dark projects. What do you say, Elinor?"

Elinor slipped Judith's nervous hand into her m.u.f.f within her own.

"I think we might let her share with us this time," she said gently, and Judith's relief was beautiful to behold.

"Bruce says we're going to a French restaurant," she announced proudly.

"I hope I can remember enough French to talk politely. Mademoiselle makes us say so many fine sentences when we have our 'calling days' in the French cla.s.s that I get awfully twisted and never know whether I'm masculine or feminine."

"You won't need to think about it here," said Bruce. "The waiters are both Belgians and they speak English pretty well. You know that English is taught in the public schools in Belgium, and even the little children can say a few words to you. It's the old folks that don't understand."

Judith flew back to his side, pushing Patricia ahead to Elinor.

"Oh, do tell me all about it," she pleaded, and Bruce, with his customary good nature, launched into a very diverting account of the habits and customs of the Flemings and the year spent among them in his student days.

The first breath of spring was in the air, softening the chill of the crowded streets with warming sunshine and a hint of the coming miracle of the yearly resurrection. The shops were filled with the crisp, fresh-tinted goods of the nearing season, and here and there among the smartly dressed women was a modish straw hat brightening the winter furs and velvets. Patricia's cup was full and running over. She had no need for speech with Elinor, but she kept giving her hands quick little squeezes in her m.u.f.f, while now and again they exchanged swift telegraphic glances of appreciation.

Bruce swung the door for them, and they pa.s.sed into a little narrow shop-like place.

Judith's eyes were wide and dismayed.

"I don't think this is very nice," she whispered as Bruce was exchanging a few words with the smiling proprietor in the little cage behind the tiny counter.

"Hush," cautioned Patricia, using her eyes industriously. "It must be all right, or Bruce wouldn't have brought us. I like it. The floor is _sanded_, Judy! And those people at the snippy little tables under the stairs are French--just hear them gabble to the waiter."

Judith recovered sufficiently to take notice.

"There isn't any table--" she had begun, still with slight protest in her voice, when Bruce ushered them up the narrow vertical stair to the larger room above where more tables and windows made a cozy dining place for about a dozen people.

The waiter, a broad-faced Belgian, rushed forward with a smile of genuine welcome and a flourish of the spotless towel which he wore upon his left shoulder, and, with a few murmured words in French, motioned them to a table by the front window.

When they were being settled in their places, Judith found opportunity to whisper to Bruce, who immediately turned to the Belgian, who was helping Patricia remove her coat.

"You have good custom today, Francois," he said with a gesture toward the chattering groups at the other tables.

The waiter bowed as he folded the coat carefully.

"Yes, Mr. Haydon, sir," he said clearly. "We do not complain. Our trade keeps up, sir. We are the same as when you left, sir. We do not complain."

Patricia laughed at Judith's expression, as she watched Francois whisk away to the dumb-waiter in the far corner of the little apartment, and roar stentorian commands in indistinguishable French to an unseen source of supply below.

"He just uses his French to plot his dark plots with, Judy darlin',"

she said, merrily. "You needn't try to make them out, for he doesn't intend you to."

"I heard 'Chateaubriand,' anyway," retorted Judith triumphantly. "And that means beefsteak. So I did understand something, you see."

Bruce made a gesture of mock despair. "Heavens, I'm discovered!" he cried, with a twinkle. "Judy knows just what she's going to have for lunch, and there won't be any surprise, after all."

Patricia looked inquiringly at him.

"Is _that_ the grand surprise you meant, Bruce Haydon? Sure you aren't fooling us? Oh, you are! You've got _something_ else--I know it by your eyes. You look awfully guilty."

"Do I?" asked Bruce innocently. "I wish there was a mirror here so I could see how that looks. Here comes Francois with the bouillon and omelets. Don't let him see me, please, till I've gotten up a better expression."

Francois served them deftly, while still attending to all the other tables, and Patricia, in the intervals of merry chatter, wondered at the innumerable bits of respectful conversation he managed to supply his patrons in addition to his very satisfactory table service, and she said so to Bruce, just as the dessert had been placed and Francois had withdrawn to a party of newcomers.

Bruce, however, was remarkably absent in his reply.

"Yes, he's a wonder," he said, cracking nuts studiously. "I hope he's as good on breakfasts as he used to be."