“They have lots of money, haven’t they?”

“I have sometimes thought that the Crosbys had more than their age and social training fitted them to use wisely, but I’ve never known them to go far astray.  They’ve done foolish things, but I’ve never known either to do a wrong or selfish thing.  Money is a terrible test of character, but I think the twins will survive it.”

“I suppose they’ve done lots of funny things with it.”

Madame’s eyes danced and little smiles wrinkled the corners of her mouth.  “On the Fourth of July, last year, they presented every orphan in the Orphans’ Home with two dollars’ worth of fireworks, carefully chosen.  Of course the inevitable happened and the orphans managed to set fire to the home, but, after two hours of hard work, the place was saved.  Some of the children were slightly injured during the celebration, but that didn’t matter, because as Juliet said, they’d had a good time, anyway, and it would give them something to talk about in years to come.”

“It would have been better to spend the money on shoes, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know, my dear.  The finest gift in the world is pleasure.  Sometimes I think it’s better to feed the soul and let the body fast.  There is a time in life when one brief sky-rocket can produce more joy than ten pairs of shoes.”

Isabel smiled and glanced at Madame Bernard’s lavender satin slipper.  The old lady laughed and the soft colour came into her pretty face.

“I frankly admit that I’ve passed it,” she said.  “Better one pair of shoes than ten sky-rockets, if the shoes are the sort I like.”

“Do they come often?” queried Isabel, reverting to the subject of the twins.

“Not as often as I’d like to have them, but it doesn’t do to urge them.  I can only keep my windows open and let the wind from the clover field blow in as it will.”

“Do they live near a clover field?” inquired Isabel, perplexed.

“No, but they remind me of it—­they’re so breezy and wholesome, so free and untrammelled, and, at heart, so sweet.”

“I hope they’ll come again soon.”

“So do I, for I don’t want you to be lonely, Isabel.  It was good of your mother to let you come.”

“Mamma doesn’t care what I do,” observed Isabel, placidly.  “She’s always busy.”

Madame Bernard checked the sharp retort that rose to her lips.  What Isabel had said was quite true.  Mrs. Ross was so interested in what she called “The New Thought” and “The Higher World Service” that she had neither time nor inclination for the old thought and simple service that make—­and keep—­a home.

From the time she could dress herself and put up her own hair, Isabel had been left much to herself.  Her mother supplied her liberally with money for clothes and considered that her duty to her daughter ended there.  They lived in an apartment hotel and had their coffee served in their rooms in the morning.  After that, Isabel was left to her own devices, for committees and directors’ meetings without number claimed her mother.