They were to come at noon this time.

This visit was not to be a tantalizing little piece of stiffness an hour and a half long.

It was to be a satisfying, whole-souled matter of half a day's comradeship, almost like old times.

So once more the roses graced the rooms, and a flaring pink bow adorned Spunkie's fat neck; and once more Bertram placed his latest "Face of a Girl" in the best possible light.

There was still a difference, however, for this time Cyril did not bring any music down to the piano, nor display anywhere a copy of his newest book.
The dinner was to be at three o'clock, but by special invitation the guests were to arrive at twelve; and promptly at the appointed hour they came.
"There, this is something like," exulted Bertram, when the ladies, divested of their wraps, toasted their feet before the open fire in his den.
"Indeed it is, for now I've time to see everything--everything you've done since I've been gone," cried Billy, gazing eagerly about her.
"Hm-m; well, THAT wasn't what I meant," shrugged Bertram.
"Of course not; but it's what I meant," retorted Billy.