living-room. She paused, and stood
very still, while a little knowing smile parted her lips.

"Dolly! Dolly! Dolly!" Again came the call, unmistakable, music to
Dolly's ear. She tip-toed to the door. From within sounded a threshing
noise, as of a whale caught in shallows. "Yes. What is it?" she called
back melodiously, mastering her desire to rush in.

"Come here, Dolly," said the male voice. "Come here."

"I'm coming," said Dolly, and went in with a slightly bored expression.

"Help me, Dolly," said the perspiring and be-ruffled gentleman within. "I
can't--can't--get my coat on."

"Why, Goosie; of course I'll help you."

But the help, although almost sincere, was powerless. The coat would not
go on. The sleeves rose to the elbows smoothly, half way to the
shoulders with more effort--but here they stuck, refusing to slide over
the top of the shoulders. On each side of the spine, almost cracking the
shirt, a protuberance bulged which the coat could not leap.

He stood there puffing, his hair mussed up, his eyes wrathful. "Well," he
growled at length; "why don't you go get your scissors."

"Shall I?" she said doubtfully--and at the same time bounced out like a
little rabbit. "Take off your shirt, Goosie," she said, returning with
the gleaming instruments, now symbolical of her superior common-sense.

She aided him. She took off his collar and tie, unfastened the buttons,
and then she was tugging at the shirt. It slid down, uncovering the
shoulders. There was a dry, crackling sound, as of a fan stretched
open--and Dolly sat down on the floor. "Oh-oh-oh," she cried,
"Go-oo-oo-ssie-ie!"

He stood there, looking out of the corner of his eye at his reflection in
the mirror, red-faced and very much abashed. For with the slipping of the
shirt, on his shoulders there had sprung, with the movement of a
released jack-in-the-box, two vibrant white things.

Two gleaming, lustrous, white things that were----

"They're wings," said Dolly, still on the floor. "_They are wings_," she
repeated, in the tone of one saying, _He is dead_. "Now, Goosie, you
_have_ done it!"

But a change had come in Charles-Norton. The blush had left his brow, the
foolish expression his face; he was pivoting before the mirror like a
woman with a new bonnet.

"I _like_ them," he said.

And then, "Just look at them, Dolly. Just look at the curve of them.
Isn't it a beautiful curve! And the whiteness of them, Dolly--like a
baby's soul. And how