She gave them up without looking at him, and she was a trifle pale from her exertion. Her hat was off, and the wind made rich havoc of her pretty hair. She was splashed with spray, and her boating-dress was quite wet. Bayard watched her. The sun dropped, and the color on the harbor began to fade. “I suppose you came for the report?” she asked suddenly. “I stayed in all the afternoon. I couldn’t be expected to wait indefinitely, you know!” “I could not possibly set the hour. I am much overworked. I should beg your pardon,” said Bayard in his gentlest way. “You _are_ overworked,” answered Helen, in her candid voice. “And I am an idle, useless woman. It wouldn’t have hurt me a bit to wait your leisure. But I’m not-- ... you see ... I’m not used to it.” “I must remind you again, that I no longer move in good society,” said Bayard, looking straight at her. “You must extend to me as much tolerance as you do to other working men.” “Yes,” returned Helen; “we always wait a week for a carpenter, and ten days for the plumbers. Anyhow, Johnny’s mother is in the Widows’ Home. She’s as snug as a clam in a shell. She says she won’t run away again till I’ve been to see her.” “How in the world did you manage?” asked Bayard admiringly. “Oh, I don’t just know,” replied Helen, clasping her hands behind her head; “I made myself lovely, that’s all.” “That might be enough, I should fancy,” ventured the young man under his breath. “I took her shopping,” said Helen. “Took her _shopping_!” “Why, yes. She wanted to buy some mourning. She said Johnny’s father had been dead so long, her black was all worn out. She wanted fresh crape. So I took her round the stores, and got her some.” “Bought her crape?” “Yes. I got her a crape veil--oh, and a bonnet. She’s the happiest mourner you ever saw. She went back to the Widows’ Home like a spring lamb. She wore a chocolate calico dress with red spots on it, and this crape veil. You can’t think how she looked! But she’s perfectly contented. She’ll stay awhile now. She says they wouldn’t give her any mourning at the Home. She said that was all she had ‘agin’ ’em.’” “Oh, these widows!” groaned Bayard. “We got two starving women in there by the hardest work, last spring, and one left in a week. She said it was too lonesome; she wanted to live with folks. The other one said it ‘depressed’ her. A Windover widow is a problem in sociology.” “Johnny’s mother is the other kind of woman; I can see that,” replied Helen. “She sits by herself, and puts her face in her hands. She doesn’t even cry. But she takes it out in crape. You can’t think how happy she is in that veil.” “Your political economy is horrible,” laughed Bayard, “but your heart is as warm as”-- “I saw Mari and Joey,” interrupted Helen, “and Job Slip. I stayed two hours. Job was as sober as you are. They invited me to dinner. I suppose they were thankful to be rid of that poor old lady.” “Did you stay?”