New York, we've been going on the same
old routine, and yet no two days have been alike, except in the minor
detail of missing you at places. You have been in twenty different
cities, and I'd be willing to bet that your routine hasn't varied:
sleeper, hotel, rehearsal, concert, applause, wreath, supper, hotel,
bed, and so on around the circuit again and again. And you say the
singing pays for it. It does pay us; but you can't hear yourself,
Thayer, not to get any good of it. If it isn't the applause and such
stuff, what do you do it for?"

Thayer glanced down at the man beside him. He liked Bobby Dane, and, for
the moment, he felt moved to discard his customary reticence in regard
to his art.

"For the sake of feeling myself picked up and carried along by something
quite outside myself, something I am powerless to analyze, or to
master; yet something that I can help to express," he answered.

Bobby accepted the lesson in silence. Then of a sudden his whimsical fun
reasserted itself.

"Must feel a good deal like getting drunk," he commented gravely. "And
_a propos des bottes_, Beatrix is at home again."

Thayer's shoulders straightened, his step grew rhythmic once more.

"When did she come?"

"She landed, ten days ago, and they went right to the new house. She is
going to send out cards for Mondays in May; but, meanwhile, we are
coming in for an earlier event. There's a note at your rooms now, asking
you to dine with them, next Monday."

"How do you know?"

"Because, like a coy maiden, I named the day. It is a sort of
post-nuptial event, the maid of honor, the best man, and the master of
ceremonies, meaning myself. She wasn't going to ask me, because it would
spoil the number; but I told her I would make a point of being there,
and that Monday was my most convenient day. It will give us our first
chance to talk over the wedding."

"How does she--Mrs. Lorimer look?"

"She Mrs. Lorimer looks very natural," Bobby replied gravely. "As a
rule, we only say a person looks natural after his demise; but I assure
you that Beatrix is very much alive."

"And happy?" Thayer asked involuntarily.

Bobby gave him a swift, sharp glance. Then he resumed his former
nonchalant air.

"As happy as one always is at landing after five days of acute
sea-sickness. They pursued a storm, all the way home. They didn't catch
it, though, except in the figurative sense of our remote childhood. I
never saw Beatrix look so happy in her