“If you don’t know, I advise you to cultivate your son’s friends. Do you mean that you don’t know Peter Addis? Why, he’s been like a son of mine. You ought to have known how fond I and the colonel are of him. I’m surprised you’ve never met him at our house.” “I never did,” said Mrs. Baron, swallowing with difficulty. “Well, for goodness’ sake let’s go down-stairs--please excuse me for suggesting, Emily, in your house--and behave ourselves. I suppose we’ve all been at fault--all except that delightful child. I’m going to find her and tell her so!” “It was so funny!” declared the elder Miss McKelvey, appealing tremulously to Mrs. Baron, and patting her on the arm. She thought of laughing, which was, she believed, the easiest thing to do in all sorts of circumstances. Mrs. Harrod’s brain was working energetically. She had been reading various faces, and she realized that even yet Mrs. Baron had not spoken to Addis. She drew conclusions. On the way down-stairs she kept Addis close to her. “Do you know, Peter,” she said, in large, cheerful tones, “I think it’s downright shabby for you to neglect us as you have been of late. I miss those old evenings so!--when you and the colonel used to come in from hunting, and sit down and eat like two famished boys, and bring the atmosphere of outdoors with you. Do you remember how the dogs used to slip into the house, in spite of the colonel’s scolding, and put their heads on your knees while you ate supper? Those were the occasions that made a home worth having.” Addis, entirely satisfied with the turn affairs were taking, responded eagerly: “I certainly do remember. I’ve often wondered if the colonel had Queenie yet. There was a dog for you!” “Oh, no! Queenie’s been dead over a year. It’s Prince and Hector, now--Queenie’s puppies. The colonel says they’re every bit as smart as their mother was. I wish you’d come out soon. On a Sunday, if you’d rather find us alone. We’ll sit out under the grape-arbor. You know the grapes are just getting ripe. Those little vines have grown up beautifully. The colonel always has his bottle of what-do-you-call-it out there, and his pipe, and I send the servants away and prepare a little lunch----” They were in the sitting-room now, too eagerly engaged in their conversation to think of sitting down, and Mrs. Baron was waiting humbly to regain control of the situation. Mrs. Harrod was not unmindful of her old friend’s discomfort; but she had an idea she was engaged in giving a patient a dose of medicine, and that she ought to be careful that none of it was spilled. “If you’ll excuse me,” said Mrs. Baron, now thoroughly dejected, “I’ll look for Bonnie May. I think I ought to have a talk with her.” She had heard every word that Mrs. Harrod had spoken to Mr. Addis. And she had heard enough. She went to Bonnie May’s room. She was too confused to realize that Flora accompanied her. But as she stood staring miserably into the empty room she heard Flora’s comforting voice.