t for management, and she
arranged all these details with a brisk capability that swept everything
before it. A sunny bedroom for Mizzi. But then, a bright living room,
too, for Theodore's hours of practice. No noise. Chicago's roar maddened
him. Otti shied at every new contrivance that met her eye. She had to
be broken in to elevators, electric switches, hot and cold faucets,
radiators.

"No apartment ever built could cover all the requirements," Fanny
confided to Fenger, after the first harrowing week. "What they really
need is a combination palace, houseboat, sanatorium, and creche."

"Look here," said Fenger. "If I can help, why--" a sudden thought struck
him. "Why don't you bring 'em all down to my place in the country? We're
not there half the time. It's too cool for my wife in September. Just
the thing for the child, and your brother could fiddle his head off."

The Fengers had a roomy, wide-verandaed house near Lake Forest; one
of the many places of its kind that dot the section known as the north
shore. Its lawn sloped gently down to the water's edge. The house was
gay with striped awnings, and scarlet geraniums, and chintz-covered
chairs. The bright, sparkling, luxurious little place seemed to satisfy
a certain beauty-sense in Fenger, as did the etchings on the walls in
his office. Fanny had spent a week-end there in July, with three or four
other guests, including Fascinating Facts. She had been charmed with it,
and had announced that her energies thereafter would be directed solely
toward the possession of just such a house as this, with a lawn that was
lipped by the lake, awnings and geraniums to give it a French cafe air;
books and magazines enough to belie that.

"And I'll always wear white," she promised, gayly, "and there'll be
pitchers on every table, frosty on the outside, and minty on the inside,
and you're all invited."

They had laughed at that, and so had she, but she had been grimly in
earnest just the same.

She shook her head now at Fenger's suggestion. "Imagine Mrs. Fenger's
face at sight of Mizzi, and Theodore with his violin, and Otti with her
shawls and paraphernalia. Though," she added, seriously, "it's mighty
kind of you, and generous--and just like a man."

"It isn't kindness nor generosity that makes me want to do things for
you."

"Modest," murmured Fanny, wickedly, "as always."

Fenger bent his look upon her. "Don't try the ingenue on me, Fanny."

Theodore's manager, Kurt