bout bringing 'em home to dinner next time, so I asked him for
to-night. Do you mind? It's--"

"Mind? Of course not! I'm glad you did," plunged in Billy, with feverish
eagerness. (Even now, just the bare mention of anything connected with
that awful "test" night was enough to set Billy's nerves to tingling.)
"I want you to always bring them home, Bertram."

"All right, dear. We'll be there at six o'clock then. It's--it's
Calderwell, this time. You remember Calderwell, of course."

"Not--_Hugh_ Calderwell?" Billy's question was a little faint.

"Sure!" Bertram laughed oddly, and lowered his voice. "I suspect
_once_ I wouldn't have brought him home to you. I was too jealous. But
now--well, now maybe I want him to see what he's lost."

"_Bertram!_"

But Bertram only laughed mischievously, and called a gay "Good-by till
to-night, then!"

Billy, at her end of the wires, hung up the receiver and backed against
the wall a little palpitatingly.

Calderwell! To dinner--Calderwell! Did she remember Calderwell? Did she,
indeed! As if one could easily forget the man that, for a year or two,
had proposed marriage as regularly (and almost as lightly!) as he had
torn a monthly leaf from his calendar! Besides, was it not he, too, who
had said that Bertram would never love any girl, _really_; that it would
be only the tilt of her chin or the turn of her head that he loved--to
paint? And now he was coming to dinner--and with Bertram.

Very well, he should see! He should see that Bertram _did_ love her;
_her_--not the tilt of her chin nor the turn of her head. He should
see how happy they were, what a good wife she made, and how devoted and
_satisfied_ Bertram was in his home. He should see! And forthwith Billy
picked up her skirts and tripped up-stairs to select her very prettiest
house-gown to do honor to the occasion. Up-stairs, however, one thing
and another delayed her, so that it was four o'clock when she turned her
attention to her toilet; and it was while she was hesitating whether to
be stately and impressive in royally sumptuous blue velvet and ermine,
or cozy and tantalizingly homy{sic} in bronze-gold crepe de Chine and
swan's-down, that the telephone bell rang again.

Eliza and Pete had not yet returned; so, as before, Billy answered it.
This time Eliza's shaking voice came to her.

"Is that you, ma'am?"

"Why, yes, Eliza?"

"Yes'm, it's me, ma'am. It's about Uncle Pete. He's give us a turn
that's 'most scared