As she left the house to keep her engagement with Nolan, she was surprised to see Mrs. Severs starting out, for Mrs. Severs was not used to being out so early. "Why, little Bride, whither away?" laughed Eveley. Mrs. Severs flushed. "I am going to spend the day with father," she admitted, rather shyly. "It is sort of lonesome here alone all the time,--and we have lots of fun in the little cottage on the hill. And sometimes we go out on the beach and lie on the sand,--he takes me in his jitney. He thinks I need more sunshine and fresh air." "He is great, isn't he?" said Eveley warmly. "He is dear," cried Mrs. Severs, the quick color surging her face. "I am not very well, and he is so gentle and sweet to me. I--wish I had been more patient,--I am very lonely now. But we are great chums. He has taught me to play pinochle, and I fill his pipe for him. And onions aren't so bad." "Hum," thought Eveley, as she drove down-town. "You can't suit some people, no matter how finely you adjust their difficulties." Then she brightened. "Still, it is better to love each other in two houses, than to be bad friends in one,--as they were." That evening, she and Eileen stood at the station impatiently waiting,--having arrived at five-thirty, fearing the train might come ahead of time. "Oh, Eveley," Eileen wailed. "Suppose they should not like me?" Eveley laughed at that. "Suppose you do not like them?" she parried. "I do. I haven't seen them for over two years, but they are adorable. They are seven now. The prettiest things,--long yellow curls, and--" "Billy will probably be shaved by this time,--I mean barbered." "Oh, never. No one would cut off curls like his. Their hair will be longer I suppose, probably darker,--and Betty lisps and swallows while she is talking,--" "Oh, she will be over that now." "In two years? Why, certainly not. They will be just the same, only more so." Eveley began to experience a curious internal sinking. Eileen was too deliriously optimistic about those children. They were angel babies, of course, for Eileen said so, but Eveley remembered Nathalie and Dan, angels, too,--but how they shouted and tore through the house. And they were always exhibiting fresh cuts and bruises, and Dan had insisted on the confiscation of his curls at four years. If Billy was still wearing curls at seven, he needed a tonic for he was not regular. "Eileen," she began very gently, "you--you mustn't expect too many dimples and curls. Children are angels,--but they are funny, too. They are always bleeding, you know, and--" "Bleeding!" gasped Eileen. "Agnes never mentioned bleeding! Do they always do it?" "Always. They are always getting themselves smashed and scratched, and blood runs all over them, and gets matted in their hair, and their hands are constitutionally dirty, and--they always have at least one finger totally and irrevocably smashed. Some times it is two fingers, and once in a while a whole hand, but the average is one finger."