Good-natured, fun-loving Emma Dean occupied a foremost place in her affections.

Grace wondered sometimes if the bond between them did not stretch as tightly even as that between herself and Anne.

Emma had been and always would be the perfect comrade.
"You're next, Mabel," she murmured as she scanned the third envelope on the scarcely depleted pile.

"I suppose you are going to tell me that----" The loud purr of an automobile stopping before the house left Mabel's message still unread.

Depositing her wealth of correspondence on the seat of the swing, Grace tripped down the steps and on down the walk.
"Good morning, dear Fairy Godmother," she greeted hospitably.