"Oh, that's not the worst of it; as I told you, they are eating my food and laughing at my most beautiful thoughts, and to think I'm going to room with Glad and Ann. I suppose I'll have no peace."

"Better start writing poetry about them and their pet failings," Janet suggested. "If you wrote an ode to the freckles on Glad's nose, she'd probably keep very still in the future."

"Oh, good idea! I'll do that very thing!" Prue exclaimed.

They reached the room at the end of the hall and Prue paused to open the door.

"The Countess's Room," she announced.

"Oh, what a nice name. I didn't know you called it that."

"We don't, but Miss Hull does," Prue corrected. "You see the beautiful Countess de Something Something, Camier, I think it was, came to visit Colonel Hull, and she had this room; so it's been called her room ever since.

"Oh, I think that's awfully nice; Phyllis will be crazy about it. Wonder who slept in our room?"

Janet looked around the big room with interest. It was plenty large enough to accommodate three beds. Two of them were cots, the third was an enormous four-poster. It looked worthy indeed to be the couch of a Countess. She was so busy exclaiming over the tester, with its glazed chintz ruffle, that she did not see the sudden gleam in Prue's eye. She even forgot to make any more inquiries about the possible celebrity that had slept in her own room.

They dumped the contents of the drawer onto the bed and then carried it empty back to Sally's room.

As they paused at the door, a shout of laughter greeted them, and they heard Glad exclaim:

"Oh, do listen to this," she cried: "'The smoky darkness of a rich Egyptian night.'"

Prue walked into the room, followed by Janet.

"Prue, dear, didn't you mean a Pittsburgh night?" Ann asked provokingly as she finished spreading a cracker with as much peanut b.u.t.ter as it could hold.

Prue did not deign a reply. Instead she swooped down upon the unsuspecting Ann and took her carefully spread cracker away from her.

"Peanut b.u.t.ter is bad for freckles, darling," she said without a trace of ill-humor in her voice. "Prue will eat it."

There was a scuffle and the cracker was eventually ground under somebody's heel. When peace was restored, Janet flourished her letter once more above her head.

"From Daphne?" Phyl cried, recognizing the writing.

"Yes; she's coming today, but how did you find it out?"

"Miss Hull called me down after mail, and told me," Sally explained.

"She gets in about five-thirty, just in time for dinner."

"Oh, I wish we could go to the station," Janet exclaimed.

"Afraid we can't do that," Sally replied, "but we can go down to the gate."

"Oh, good! Then when we see her carriage we can hop aboard," Phyllis said.

"To think she'd really be here tonight!" Janet cried. "Funny, beautiful Taffy."

"Do tell us about her," Gladys demanded.

"Yes, do," Ann and Prue echoed.

The three girls looked at each other.

"You tell them, Sally," Janet said, but Sally shook her head.

"No, Jan, Taffy's more yours than ours," she replied, and Phyllis nodded.

"Go ahead," she encouraged. "If we were talking about Sally I'd be spokesman."

"Preserve my character," laughed Sally.

"Oh, don't worry; they'd never learn the truth from me," Phyllis said airily.

"We know all there is to know about Sally," Prue exclaimed.

"Yes, Jan, tell us about this Daphne. She has a lovely name," Ann added.

"Well, it exactly suits her," Janet began, "only we call her Taffy because she has a mop of hair that looks exactly like taffy candy, the rich yellow kind, and her eyes are green, just the color of the sea, when you look straight down into it on a misty day, and her cheeks are like rose petals, not bright pink, but a soft, delicate tint, and her cheeks are ivory white, like cream. She has long slender hands and the most wonderful voice you ever heard; it's soft and furry; she always drawls; in fact, Taffy always looks and talks as if she were half asleep. Her eyelashes are so long and heavy that they almost cover her eyes. When she opens them wide she looks as if she were surprised at what she saw. She's got the keenest sense of humor you ever heard of, and when she says a thing it sounds twice as funny as if anyone else had said it, because of her queer little laugh."

Janet stopped and looked suddenly very self-conscious while the girls looked at her with a new expression in their eyes.

"Why, Jan," Prue exclaimed. "You're a poet."

"I feel as if I'd been listening to a fairy story," Gladys said.

"With the lovely Daphne as the enchanted princess," Ann added dreamily.

"I never realized before how really lovely Daphne was," Sally laughed.

"Honestly, Jan, I felt as if she was here in the room as you talked."

Phyllis said nothing. She was curled up on one end of the bed, her head against Sally's pillows, her arms stretched above her. Her face wore an expression of pride and ownership, but not surprise. Janet was her twin, and everything Janet did was perfect in her eyes. When other girls admired her, too, Phyllis just sat back and smiled contentedly.

"You'll make a great old quartette," Gladys laughed.

"Sort of a mutual admiration society," Prue added.

"Phyl, I'd think you'd be jealous of this Daphne," Ann laughed. "Won't your nose be out of joint when she arrives?"

The twins stared at her in blank amazement.

"Jealous!" they said together. "Why, how perfectly silly."

"You might as well say that I might be jealous of Sally," Janet chuckled.

"No," Phyllis shook her head, "Jan and I couldn't possibly be jealous.

We're twins, you see."

The little phrase ended all argument and doubt as it always did. The girls realized with something of a start how close the bond between them was, and they felt a glow of pride around their hearts. Affection like this was worthy of a place at Hilltop, and could be pointed out with pride.