“What is it, Auntie?” Patsy was not slow to read peculiar significance in both tone and smile. Something unusual was in the wind. “Would you care very much if we didn’t go to Palm Beach?” was Miss Martha’s enigmatic question. “Of course I should,” Patsy cried out, her bright face clouding over. “You’re not going to say that we can’t! You mustn’t! I’ve set my heart on the Florida trip. All the way home I’ve been planning for it.” “I received a letter from your father this morning,” pursued Miss Carroll, ignoring Patsy’s protest. “I also received another from Miss Osgood in which she refused my request for the extra week of vacation. I had written your father several days ago regarding the making of arrangements for us to go to Palm Beach. You can read for yourself what he has to say.” Rising, Miss Martha went over to a small mahogany writing desk. Opening it she took a letter from one of the pigeon holes. “Here is Robert’s letter,” she said. Handing it to her niece she reseated herself beside the latter. Very eagerly Patsy took it from its envelope and read: [37] [37] “Dear Martha: Dear Martha “Your letter came to me this morning and I would be quick to reserve rooms for yourself and the girls at one of the Palm Beach hotels, except that I have a better plan. How would you like to spend three weeks in a real southern mansion? There is such a house on the estate I recently bought. “It is a curiously beautiful house, built after the Spanish style of architecture, with an inner court and many balconies. The agent from whom I purchased it informs me that it was formerly the property of an elderly Spaniard, Manuel de Fereda. After his death, several months ago, the property descended to his granddaughter, who was anxious to sell it.
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