hey were motoring through the park that Eve said, "I am
troubled about Pip."

"Why?"

"Oh, I sometimes have a feeling that he has a string tied to me--and that
he is pulling me--his way. And I don't want to go. But I shall, if
something doesn't save me from him, Richard."

"You can save yourself."

"That's all you know about it. Women take what they can get in this
world, not what they want. Every morning Pip sends me flowers, sweetheart
roses to-day, and lilies yesterday, and before that gardenias and
orchids, and when I open the boxes every flower seems to be shouting,
'Come and marry me, come and marry me.'"

"No woman need marry a man she doesn't care for, Eve."

"Lots of them do."

"You won't. You are too sensible."

"Am I?"

"Of course."

She sighed a little. "I am not half as sensible as you think."

When they reached home, they found Aunt Maude before them. She had been
unswathed from her veil and her cloak, released from her black velvet,
and was comfortable before her sitting-room fire in a padded wisteria
robe and a boudoir cap with satin bow. Underneath the cap there were no
flat gray curls. These were whisked mysteriously away each night by
Hannah, the maid, to be returned in the morning, fresh from their pins
with no hurt to Aunt Maude's old head.

She greeted Richard cordially. "I sent Hannah down when I heard you. Eve
didn't let me know you were here; she never lets me know. And now tell me
about your poor mother."

"Why poor, dear lady? You know she loves Crossroads."

"How anybody can---- I'd die of loneliness. Now to-night--so many people
of my own kind----"

"Everybody in black velvet or brocade, everybody with badges, everybody
with blue blood," Eve interrupted flippantly; "nobody with ideas, nobody
with enthusiasms, nobody with an ounce of originality--ugh!"

"My dear----!"

"Dicky, Aunt Maude's idea of Heaven is a place where everybody wears
coronets instead of halos, and where the angel chorus is a Dutch version
of 'God save the King.'"

"My idea of Heaven," Aunt Maude retorted, "is a place where young girls
have ladylike manners."

Richard roared. It had been long since he had tasted this atmosphere of
salt and spice. Aunt Maude and her sprightly niece were as good as a
play.

"How long shall you be in town, Richard?"

"Three or four days. It depends on the condition of our patient. It may
be necessary to operate again, and Austin wants me to be here."

"Aunt Maude