by and by, to make up for losing her temper
with the little maid. I suspect you were very, very trying, to make
Aunty Charlotte look like that."

Charlotte came down-stairs after a time and attended to the luncheon,
her lips pressed tight together, her eyes heavy--although not with
tears. She would not let herself cry.

Celia had a headache and did not notice, being herself disinclined to
talk, and Captain Rayburn forbore to look at Charlotte. But Jeff, when
he came in, observed at once that something was amiss. As soon as the
meal was over he drew Charlotte into a corner.

"You haven't been to Murdock with the pictures and been--turned down?"
he asked.

"No."

"Going this afternoon, aren't you?"

"No."

"Why not? Thought that was the plan."

Charlotte turned away, fighting hard for self-control. Jeff caught her
arm.

"See here, Fiddle, you've got to tell me. You look like a ghost. No bad
news--from New Mexico?"

"Oh, no--no! Please go away."

"I won't till you tell me what's up. You're not sick?"

Charlotte ran off up-stairs, Jeff following. "Charlotte," he cried, as
he pursued her into her room before she could turn and close the door,
"what's the use of acting like this? Something's happened, and I'm going
to know what it is."

Charlotte sat down in a despairing heap on the floor and hid her face in
her hands. Jeff glanced helplessly from her to the table in the corner.
Then he observed that it was bare of the pile of drawings.

"Nothing's happened to the wall-paper?" he asked, eagerly.

Charlotte nodded.

"What?"

"Go look up in the attic, if you must know."

Jeff dashed up-stairs, and surveyed the havoc. He came back breathless
with dismay.

"How did it happen?"

"Baby--bath-tub."

"The little--_imp_! Are they spoiled?"

"You saw."

"Yes; colours run together a bit on some, others torn in two. Yet they
show what they were, Fiddle--I vow they do. I'd take them just as they
are, explain the whole thing, and see what comes of it."

Charlotte raised her head to shake it vigorously. "Offer work in such
shape as that? I'm not such a goose."

"Got to do them all over?"

Her head sank again. "If I can get the courage."

"Of course you can," declared Jeff, more cheerfully. "You never lack
pluck. Poor girl, I'm mighty sorry, though. It's simply tough to have it
happen at the last minute. You're all tired out, too--I know you are;
you ought never to have to do it all over again."

"If