“She wasn’t.  Her name was ‘Mary Frances,’ and he changed it to ’Marie Francesca.’  So she has been ‘Marie Francesca’ ever since, though she never uses the ‘Marie.’  That was his name for her.”

“The change suits her someway.  Queer idea she has about names fitting people, and yet it isn’t so queer, either, when you come to think of it.  Rose might have been named Abigail or Jerusha, yet I believe people would have found out she was like a rose and called her by her proper name.”

Colonel Kent flashed a quick glance at him, but the expression of his face had not changed.  “And Isabel?” he queried, lightly.

“Isabel’s only a kid and it doesn’t matter so much whether things fit her or not.  I’ve promised to take her to the theatre,” he continued, irrelevantly, “because Aunt Francesca wants her guest to be amused.  I’m also commissioned to find some youths about twenty and trot ’em round for Isabel’s inspection.  Do you know of anybody?”

“I’ve seen only one who might do.  There’s a lanky boy with unruly hair and an expansive smile whom I’ve seen at the post-office a time or two.  He usually has a girl with him, but she may be his sister.  They look astonishingly alike.”

“Bet it’s the Crosby twins.  I’d like to see the little devils, if they’ve grown up.”

“They’re grown up, whoever they are.  The boy is almost as tall as I am and his sister doesn’t lack much of it.”

“I must hunt ’em up.  They’ve already called on Isabel, and perhaps, when she returns the call, she’ll take me along.”

“Who brought them up?” asked the Colonel idly.

“They’ve brought themselves up, for the last five or six years, and I’m of the opinion that they’ve always done it.”

“Let’s invite them to the dinner party.”

Allison’s eyes danced at the suggestion.  “All right, but we’ll have to see ’em first.  They may not want to come.”

“I’ve often wondered,” mused the Colonel, “why it is so much more pleasant to entertain than it is to be entertained.  I’d rather have a guest any day than to be one.”

“And yet,” returned Allison, “if you are a guest, you can get away any time you want to, within reasonable limits.  If you’re entertaining, you’ve got to keep it going until they all want to go.”

“In that case, it might be better for us if we went to Crosbys’.”

“We can do that, too.  I think it would be fun, though, to have ’em here.  We need another man in one sense, though not in another.”

“I have frequently had occasion to observe,” remarked the Colonel, “that many promising dinners are wholly spoiled by the idea that there must be an equal number of men and women.  One uncongenial guest can ruin a dinner more easily than a poor salad—­and that is saying a great deal.”

“Your salad days aren’t over yet, evidently.”

“I hope not.”

The hour of talk had done the Colonel a great deal of good, and he was quite himself again.  Some new magazines had come in the afternoon mail and lay on the library table.  He fingered the paper knife absently as he tore off the outer wrappings and threw them into the fire.