en, rigid
in its order, with Oliver's cold luncheon set out on the table under
wire covers. She made her way upstairs, and in his room, also in
beautiful array, stood for a moment looking about her. Isabel gave a
little laugh. "I should think I was crazy," she said to herself; and
then she opened bureau drawers until she found the careful display of
bosomed shirts she knew were there. She laid one on the bed, his collar
and necktie beside it, and took down his best suit from the closet. She
gave the collar of the coat a little unnecessary brush with her hand. It
seemed almost a wifely touch, and she was angry with herself. Yet it was
only that this was mating-time, and the tender and the maternal strove
blindly in her, and brought forth a largess great enough to touch other
lots besides her own.

Then she sped downstairs and went away to her own home. Her mother--a
little woman, all energy--met her at the gate. She had on her best
bonnet and carried her Paisley shawl. She was shading her eyes with her
hand and looking tense in a way Isabel declaimed against, for it made
wrinkles in her mother's nice forehead.

"For mercy sake, where you been?" she called. "Ain't you seen Jim?"

"No," said Isabel lightly. "Where is he?"

"Well, I dunno where he is," said her mother reprovingly. "He come here
after you, all dressed up, an' I told him you was gone down to Ellen's
to carry the cake. So he said he'd go along down an' fetch you up, an' I
told him he better stop to Ardelia's an' see if you wasn't there. An'
then he come back, ridin' like the wind, an' he said I could tell you
Mis' Drake said you's goin' to the picnic with Oliver. She see you
through the spy-glass, an' Oliver'd gone to ketch the colt."

"There's father," said Isabel steadily. "He's drivin' out the
carriage-house now. You got the cake in the buggy?"

"You do worry me 'most to death," said Mrs. Wilde. Her face had tied
itself into a snarl of knots, from which the kindly eyes looked angrily.
"Who you goin' with, Isabel? You ain't been an' took up with Oliver
again, after all's said an' done?"

Isabel laughed, but her voice shook a little, and not with mirth.

"I'm all right, mother. Don't you say anything to anybody. That's all.
Here comes father. Take care your dress. You'll get wheel-grease on it."

Her strong hands were lifting the little creature, and Mrs. Wilde found
herself driven away. She was turning a glance over her shoulder to the
last, and ca