necessary to the rest of them. Even as it is, they all pay a
little something toward the running expenses of the house. They
insisted on that, and Mrs. Henshaw had to let them. I believe her chief
difficulty now is that she has not less than six people whom she wishes
to put into the two extra rooms still unoccupied, and she can't make up
her mind which to take. Her husband says he expects to hear any day of
an Annexette to the Annex."

"Humph!" grunted Calderwell, as he turned and began to walk up and down
the room. "Bertram is still painting, I suppose."

"Oh, yes."

"What's he doing now?"

"Several things. He's up to his eyes in work. As you probably have
heard, he met with a severe accident last summer, and lost the use of
his right arm for many months. I believe they thought at one time he had
lost it forever. But it's all right now, and he has several commissions
for portraits. Alice says he's doing ideal heads again, too."

"Same old 'Face of a Girl'?"

"I suppose so, though Alice didn't say. Of course his special work just
now is painting the portrait of Miss Marguerite Winthrop. You may have
heard that he tried it last year and--and didn't make quite a success of
it."

"Yes. My sister Belle told me. She hears from Billy once in a while.
Will it be a go, this time?"

"We'll hope so--for everybody's sake. I imagine no one has seen it
yet--it's not finished; but Alice says--"

Calderwell turned abruptly, a quizzical smile on his face.

"See here, my son," he interposed, "it strikes me that this Alice is
saying a good deal--to you! Who is she?"

Arkwright gave a light laugh.

"Why, I told you. She is Miss Alice Greggory, Mrs. Henshaw's friend--and
mine. I have known her for years."

"Hm-m; what is she like?"

"Like? Why, she's like--like herself, of course. You'll have to know
Alice. She's the salt of the earth--Alice is," smiled Arkwright, rising
to his feet with a remonstrative gesture, as he saw Calderwell pick up
his coat. "What's your hurry?"

"Hm-m," commented Calderwell again, ignoring the question. "And when,
may I ask, do you intend to appropriate this--er--salt--to--er--ah,
season your own life with, as I might say--eh?"

Arkwright laughed. There was not the slightest trace of embarrassment in
his face.

"Never. _You're_ on the wrong track, this time. Alice and I are good
friends--always have been, and always will be, I hope."

"Nothing more?"

"Nothing more. I see her frequentl