guilt. Mr. Fielding stood in the doorway! A frown darkened his brow and he looked at the private secretary with severity. 

 Miss Vickers sprang to her feet hastily and brushed out the folds of her skirt. 

 “Well!” exclaimed Mr. Fielding. “So this is how you behave! This is what you may be expected to do when you are trusted alone with the child! What do you suppose Mrs. Fielding and the committee would say?”  

 The private secretary laughed. Marjorie laughed and clapped her hands. Mr. Fielding frowned and picked Marjorie up. He put her in the crib, and Marjorie, rudely taken from her playmate by this stern man, lifted up her voice and wailed. She turned red in the face and howled. There was a swish of silk skirts—which never should be worn in the nursery—a rush of feet, and a hand pushed Mr. Fielding aside. With one sweep of her arms the private secretary gathered Marjorie to her breast. 

 “What did you do to her?” she cried. “Much you know about babies, and all your silly committees!”  

 Mr. Fielding paused irresolute. Marjorie cooed gently in her protector's arms, and her father looked at her curiously. 

 “You—you don't believe in scientific motherhood?” he said to Miss Vickers. He seemed to be asking for information; seeking light on a question that had already raised itself in his mind. 

 “'Scientific' doesn't hurt any, but it needs some mother with it,” she replied. “See her smile!” Mr. Fielding leaned forward cautiously. 

 “She does, doesn't she?” he said, with curiosity. “I never saw that before. It is quite interesting.”  

 “It's great!” exclaimed the private secretary. “You take her a minute and I'll show you something else.”  

 Mr. Fielding took her, carefully. 

 The private secretary clapped her hands and Marjorie looked toward her. 

 “Two hands, baby,” she said, and the two pink arms reached out to her. 

 “Well!” exclaimed Mr. Fielding, “How human!”  

 “See if she will do it for you,” suggested the girl. 

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