"Sam, if you make fun of me about—what I did to Richard, I——" her voice broke, and she hid her eyes on his shoulder. "I thought," she said, "that it was my duty to tell you."

"I'm not making fun of you, little woman. Perish the thought!" and he kissed her convincingly. "I don't know what I should—or shouldn't do—if I had to cope with the young miscreants single-handed all day. Where is Doris, by the way?"

She told him about the broken bay-rum bottle, and described the scene at the luncheon table. "I was so ashamed," she concluded; "but what could I do?"

"Let me laugh again, Betty!" he begged.[Pg 68] "That's too much, you know. Fancy our small Doris having the—er—audacity to stand up and audibly hint that Mrs. J. Mortimer Van Duser's room would be more acceptable than her company. I wish I'd been there to see and hear."

[Pg 68]

"Mrs. Van Duser said that it was a most interesting example of ideation—whatever that is," said his Elizabeth rather proudly. "She's writing a paper for the Ontological Club, and she's going to put all three of the children in."

"As what—Concrete examples of the genus enfant terrible?" he inquired cautiously.

Elizabeth was surveying her table with satisfied eyes. She did not appear to have heard his question.

"It may be hard work to take care of all that silver and glass we had for wedding presents, Sam," she said thoughtfully; "but on occasions it is useful."

"Yes; if the foreigner in the kitchen didn't too often turn our dancing into mourning by smashing it."

"I'm not going to let Celia wash one of these dishes," she told him firmly.

[Pg 69]

[Pg 69]

"Who is going to wash them?" he asked resignedly.

"I am—after Mr. Hickey's gone and Evelyn's in bed."

"'That means me,'" he quoted irreverently. "I'm a thoroughly house-broken husband, and you can depend upon me, Betty, every shot."

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