d with no
enthusiasm that his eyes were extremely bright, that he smiled almost
incessantly, that he stepped with an excess of his usual bounce.
Evidently something had set him off into one of his fits of wild high
spirits. You could almost feel the electricity sparkle from him, as it
does from a cat on a cold day. Personally, Mr. Welles preferred not to
touch cats when they were like that.

"When are you going back to the city, Mr. Marsh?" asked Mrs. Crittenden,
as they said good-bye at the door.

Vincent was standing below her on the marble step. He looked up at her
now, and something about his expression made Mr. Welles think again of
glossy fur emitting sparks. He said, "I'll lay you a wager, Mrs.
Crittenden, that there is one thing your Ashley underground news-service
has not told you about us, and that is, that I've come up not only to
help Mr. Welles install himself in his new home, but to take a somewhat
prolonged rest-cure myself. I've always meant to see more of this
picturesque part of Vermont. I've a notion that the air of this lovely
spot will do me a world of good."

As Mr. Welles opened his mouth, perhaps rather wide, in the beginning of
a remark, he cut in briskly with, "You're worrying about
Schwatzkummerer, I know. Never you fear. I'll get hold of his address,
all right." He explained briefly to Mrs. Crittenden, startled by the
portentous name. "Just a specialist in gladiolus seeds."

"_Bulbs!_" cried Mr. Welles, in involuntary correction, and knew as he
spoke that he had been switched off to a side-track.

"Oh well, bulbs be it," Vincent conceded the point indulgently. He took
off his hat in a final salutation to Mrs. Crittenden, and grasping his
elderly friend by the arm, moved with him down the flag-paved path.

CHAPTER IV

TABLE TALK

_An Hour in the Home Life of Mrs. Neale Crittenden, aet. 34_

March 20.

As she and Paul carried the table out to the windless, sunny side-porch,
Marise was struck by a hospitable inspiration. "You and Elly go on
setting the table," she told the children, and ran across the side-yard
to the hedge. She leaned over this, calling, "Mr. Welles! Mr. Welles!"
and when he came to the door, "The children and I are just celebrating
this first really warm day by having lunch out of doors. Won't you and
Mr. Marsh come and join us?"

By the time the explanations and protestations and renewals of the
invitation were over and she brought them back to the porch