ou wear anything but those wrapper things
nowadays?" he asked plaintively.

Again Billy laughed. But this time a troubled frown followed the laugh.

"I know, Bertram, I suppose they do look dowdy, sometimes," she
confessed; "but, you see, I hate to wear a really good dress--Baby
rumples them up so; and I'm usually in a hurry to get to him mornings,
and these are so easy to slip into, and so much more comfortable for me
to handle him in!"

"Yes, of course, of course; I see," mumbled Bertram, listlessly taking
up his walk again.

Billy, after a moment's silence, began to talk animatedly. Baby had done
a wonderfully cunning thing that morning, and Billy had not had a chance
yet to tell Bertram. Baby was growing more and more cunning anyway,
these days, and there were several things she believed she had not told
him; so she told them now.

Bertram listened politely, interestedly. He told himself that he _was_
interested, too. Of course he was interested in the doings of his own
child! But he still walked up and down the room a little restlessly,
coming to a halt at last by the window, across which the shade had not
been drawn.

"Billy," he cried suddenly, with his old boyish eagerness, "there's
a glorious moon. Come on! Let's take a little walk--a real
fellow-and-his-best-girl walk! Will you?"

"Mercy! dear, I couldn't," cried Billy springing to her feet. "I'd love
to, though, if I could," she added hastily, as she saw disappointment
cloud her husband's face. "But I told Delia she might go out. It isn't
her regular evening, of course, but I told her I didn't mind staying
with Baby a bit. So I'll have to go right up now. She'll be going soon.
But, dear, you go and take your walk. It'll do you good. Then you can
come back and tell me all about it--only you must come in quietly, so
not to wake the baby," she finished, giving her husband an affectionate
kiss, as she left the room.

After a disconsolate five minutes of solitude, Bertram got his hat and
coat and went out for his walk--but he told himself he did not expect to
enjoy it.

Bertram Henshaw knew that the old rebellious jealousy of the summer had
him fast in its grip. He was heartily ashamed of himself, but he could
not help it. He wanted Billy, and he wanted her then. He wanted to talk
to her. He wanted to tell her about a new portrait commission he had
just obtained; and he wanted to ask her what she thought of the idea of
a brand-new "Face of a Girl" for