"Of course we're very close to the line, but still
we are not in Washington."
"There's the house!" exclaimed Louise. "I wonder if mother got back
from shopping. I don't see her on the porch."
Betty saw a beautiful white house, dazzlingly white against a
background of dark trees, with a broad lawn in front circled by a
wide white driveway. A terraced garden at the side with a red brick
walk was arranged with wicker chairs and tables and a couple of
swings protected with gay striped awnings. It was a typical Southern
mansion in perfect order, and Betty reveled in its architectural
perfections even while she told herself that it did not look in the
slightest like a hotel. What was it Bobby had called her home?
"Fairfields"--that was it; and she, Betty, wanted to go to the
Willard. Had they made a mistake and brought her to the wrong place?
There was no time to ask for explanations, however. The girls swept
her out of the car and up the low steps through the beautiful
doorway. A well-trained man servant closed the door noiselessly, and
the three bore Betty across the wide hall into a room lined with
books and boasting three or four built-in window seats, in one of
which a gentleman was reading.
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