“Say, Jimmy,” stammered Zoie into the 'phone, “you've GOT to get me a baby. If you don't, I'll kill myself! I will, Jimmy, I will. You got me into this, Jimmy,” she reminded him. “You've GOT to get me out of it.” And then followed pleadings and coaxings and cajolings, and at length, a pause, during which Jimmy was apparently able to get in a word or so. His answer was not satisfactory to Zoie. “What!” she shrieked, tiptoeing to get her lips closer to the receiver; then she added with conviction, “the mother has no business to change her mind.” Apparently Jimmy maintained that the mother had changed it none the less. “Well, take it away from her,” commanded Zoie. “Get it quick, while she isn't looking.” Then casting a furtive glance over her shoulder to make sure that Aggie was still out of the room, she indulged in a few dark threats to Jimmy, also some vehement reminders of how he had DRAGGED her into that horrid old restaurant and been the immediate cause of all the misfortunes that had ever befallen her. Could Jimmy have been sure that Aggie was out of ear-shot of Zoie's conversation, the argument would doubtless have kept up indefinitely--as it was--the result was a quick acquiescence on his part and by the time that Aggie returned to the room, Zoie was wreathed in smiles. “It's all right,” she said sweetly. “Jimmy's going to get it.” Aggie looked at her sceptically. “Goodness knows I hope so,” she said, then added in despair, “Look at your cheeks. They're flaming.” Once more the powder puff was called into requisition, and Zoie turned a temporarily blanched face to Aggie. “Is that better?” she asked. “Very much,” answered Aggie, “but how about your hair?” “What's the matter with it?” asked Zoie. Her reflection betrayed a coiffure that might have turned Marie Antoinette green with envy. “Would anybody think you'd been in bed for days?” asked Aggie. “Alfred likes it that way,” was Zoie's defence. “Turn around,” said Aggie, without deigning to argue the matter further. And she began to remove handfuls of hairpins from the yellow knotted curls. “What are you doing?” exclaimed Zoie, as she sprayed her white neck and arms with her favourite perfume. Aggie did not answer. Zoie leaned forward toward the mirror to smooth out her eyebrows with the tips of her perfumed fingers. “Good gracious,” she cried in horror as she caught sight of her reflection. “You're not going to put my hair in a pigtail!” “That's the way invalids always have their hair,” was Aggie's laconic reply, and she continued to plait the obstinate curls. “I won't have it like that!” declared Zoie, and she shook herself free from Aggie's unwelcome attentions and proceeded to unplait the hateful pigtail. “Alfred would leave me.” Aggie shrugged her shoulders. “If you're going to make a perfect fright of me,” pouted Zoie, “I just won't see him.” “He isn't coming to see YOU,” reminded Aggie. “He's coming to see the baby.”