"He probably has a dozen more irons in the fire that you don't dream
of. I suppose you're going over there now?"

"Uh-huh. There's always a chance he may have some news."

"Well, it's all right for you to drop in and ask," said Jean calmly.
"But--don't linger, melove, don't linger!"

"Huh? What do you mean, don't linger? Why not?"

"You blind old goose! Has it ever struck you that Creighton is a
rather lonely man?"

"Lonely?" Then the significance of her question suddenly hit him
between the eyes. "Gee Joseph! Are you trying to promote a romance
between him and Miss Ocky?"

"Precious little promotion is required," she corrected him. "It's as
plain as the nose on your face how things are going." She laughed when
her husband in his bewilderment reached up and felt of the promontory
indicated. "Yes, it's very plain!"

"But they've only known each other a week or so!"

"What of it? They're old enough to know their own minds--both in the
early forties. Neither of them has ever had a love-affair as far as we
know; probably it hits them harder and quicker when they're like that!"

"Maybe you're right." Krech reflected deeply, and then nodded his
head. "Suits me! I like her immensely, and of course he'd be a whole
lot happier if he were married. Any man is."

"Oh, _thank_ you!" cried his beautiful wife softly. She slipped a hand
beneath his elbow and gave his massive arm an affectionate squeeze
while her blue eyes twinkled up at his. "Is um itty-witty baby happy,
then?"

"Shut up," commanded Mr. Krech with intense dignity. "Don't go cooing
at me--not where any one might hear you, anyway!"

An unprejudiced observer of the trend of events at the house on the
hill must have admitted that Mrs. Krech had considerable grounds for
her romantic suspicions. Twice during the ten days aforementioned
Creighton was obliged to go to New York and spend half a day on
business that would not be denied, and each time he returned bearing
books and candy and a vast quantity of assorted and exotic fruits for
which Miss Ocky had expressed a casual longing and which the marts of
Hambleton could not provide. On the first occasion he pretended they
were for Lucy Varr, still confined to her room, but on the second he
abandoned pretense.

Then there was the incident of the picnic, sponsored by Miss Ocky.
They took their lunch and plunged into the wilderness of hills that lay
to the north of Hambleton, their destinat