"I must go," said Colette presently. "My car is just around the corner on the next street. John, will you ride uptown with me?" He accepted the invitation with alacrity. Colette's sidelong glance noted a certain masterful look about his chin, and there was a warning, metallic ring in his voice that denoted a determination to overcome all obstacles and triumph by sheer force of will. She was not ready to listen to him yet, and, a ready evader of issues, chatted incessantly on the way to the car. He waited in grim patience, biding his time. As they neared the turn in the alley, she played her reserve card. "Henry didn't think it prudent to bring the big car into the Jenkins's _cul-de-sac,_ so he waited in the next street. I expect father will be there by this time. We dropped him at a factory near by, where he was to speak to some United Workmen." Colette smiled at the drooping of John's features as he beheld her father ensconced in the tonneau. "Oh, John! I am glad you were here to protect my little girl through these byways. I was just on the point of looking her up myself." When the car stopped at the rectory and Colette bade John good-night, the resolute, forward thrust was still prominent in his chin. He went straight to his study and wrote an ardent avowal of his love. Then he sealed the letter and dispatched it by special messenger. There would be no more suspense, he thought, for she would have to respond by a direct affirmation or negation. CHAPTER VII In the tide of the Jenkins's prosperity there came the inevitable ebb. On the fateful Friday morning succeeding the concert, Mrs. Hudgers, looking from her window, saw a little group of children with books under their arms returning from school. Having no timepiece, she was accustomed to depend on the passing to and fro of the children for guidance as to the performance of her household affairs. "My sakes, but twelve o'clock come quick to-day," she thought, as she kindled the fire and set the kettle over it in preparation of her midday meal. A neighbor dropping in viewed these proceedings with surprise. "Why, Mrs. Hudgers, ain't you et yer breakfast yet?" "Of course I hev. I'm puttin' the kittle over fer my dinner." "Dinner! why, it's only a half arter nine." Mrs. Hudgers looked incredulous. "I seen the chillern agoin' hum from school," she maintained. "Them was the Jenkinses, Iry hez come down with the scarlit fever, and they're all in quarrytine." "How you talk! Wait till I put the kittle offen the bile." The two neighbors sat down to discuss this affliction with the ready sympathy of the poor for the poor. Their passing envy of the Jenkins's good fortune was instantly skimmed from the surface of their friendliness, which had only lain dormant and wanted but the touch of trouble to make them once more akin.