her honor," I
confessed.

"Yes-s-s-s," hissed the Whalens.

"And this actress--she was one of those musical comedy actresses, you
know; I remember her part called for a good deal of kicking about in a
short Dutch costume--came in rather late, after the performance. She was
wearing a regal-looking fur-edged evening wrap, and she still wore all
her make-up"--out of the corner of my eye I saw Sis sink back with an
air of resignation--"and she threw open the door and said--

"Yes-s-s-s!" hissed the Whalens again, wetting their lips.

"--said: 'Folks, I just had a wire from mother, up in Maine. The boy has
the croup. I'm scared green. I hate to spoil the party, but don't ask me
to stay. I want to go home to the flat and blubber. I didn't even
stop to take my make-up off. My God! If anything should happen to the
boy!--Well, have a good time without me. Jim's waiting outside.'" A
silence.

Then--"Who was Jim?" asked Flossie, hopefully.

"Jim was her husband, of course. He was in the same company."

Another silence.

"Is that all?" demanded Sally from the corner in which she had been
glowering.

"All! You unnatural girl! Isn't one husband enough?"

Mrs. Whalen smiled an uncertain, wavering smile. There passed among the
three a series of cabalistic signs. They rose simultaneously.

"How quaint you are!" exclaimed Mrs. Whalen, "and so amusing! Come
girls, we mustn't tire Miss--ah--Mrs.--er--" with another meaning look at
my bare left hand.

"My husband's name is still Orme," I prompted, quite, quite pleasantly.

"Oh, certainly. I'm so forgetful. And one reads such queer things in
the newspapers nowa-days. Divorces, and separations, and soul-mates and
things." There was a note of gentle insinuation in her voice.

Norah stepped firmly into the fray. "Yes, doesn't one? What a comfort it
must be to you to know that your dear girls are safe at home with you,
and no doubt will be secure, for years to come, from the buffeting winds
of matrimony."

There was a tinge of purple in Mrs. Whalen's face as she moved toward
the door, gathering her brood about her. "Now that dear Dawn is almost
normal again I shall send my little girlies over real often. She must
find it very dull here after her--ah--life in New York."

"Not at all," I said, hurriedly, "not at all. You see I'm--I'm writing a
book. My entire day is occupied."

"A book!" screeched the three. "How interesting! What is it? When will
it be published?"

I avoid