“Good for you! I’m proud of the Beldens, Caddy--Billy acts like a drum-major.” Her eyes softened. “The dear boy,” she murmured. Their eyes met. “_Look after him_,” hers said, and his, “_As long as I live!_” He stooped and kissed her lightly. “Mind you look as well as this to-morrow!” “Oh, I shall be all right. Miss Strong will take care of me. When I think how I have the best of everything--such care--I’ve been a very happy woman, Will dear.” His eyes filled. He threw her a kiss and went out blindly. A hand touched his arm. “You’ve done her good,” said the nurse softly. “You stayed just long enough. She’ll take her nap now.” He went heavily into his own room. Below him a little porch led out from the smoking-room, and as he sat lost in a miserable reverie, voices rose from it to his window. “Nobody knows what she’s been to me. As much like a mother as I’d let her. I did everything but the cigarettes, and I meant to tell her I’d do that too, next month--that’s her birthday.” Was this his boy, that pleading, shaken voice? He looked out: the lad was fingering Miss Strong’s white apron nervously. She leaned over the railing of the little porch, her hand on his shoulder. “You tell her about it--I’ll never smoke another one. It was the last thing she asked me.” “I’ll tell her--she will be so pleased, I know. She asked about you yesterday. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.” Belden, a little later, hurried downstairs, with a confused idea of thanking her. On the threshold of the library he paused, amazed. Dr. Hitchcock sat before a small green baize table, studying five playing-cards held fan-shape in his left hand. Opposite him sat Miss Strong, holding the pack expectantly. “You can give me two, my dear, I think,” he said as Belden entered. Looking up, he smiled apologetically. “I dare say you are surprised,” he suggested, “but I have been much exasperated, Mr. Belden, and a long experience has taught me that nothing so quickly clears the mind as throwing a few hands of poker. Miss Strong--an invaluable person--is kindly assisting me. Did I say three? Yes, of course. Thank you. We are playing for beans only, you see.” Belden watched them curiously. She sat as imperturbably as by Caddy’s bedside, her eyes fixed thoughtfully on her cards. “--And raise you three,” she said. “Five more. You will excuse me, Belden, but your aunt, Mrs. Wetherly, is a somewhat unusually irritating woman. I’ll see you, Miss Strong--ah, yes, two pair, queens up.” “What has she done?” “She insists that Mrs. Moore shall not only see Mr. Burchard, to which I have not the least objection, but that he shall hold a communion service, directly, there. Now, if your sister had asked for this herself, it would be another matter, but unless this is the case I always regard it as a depressing agent. It is a strain, in any case.”