Supper was over. Spencer had piloted Bill and the car safely into the barn, running back to tell Catherine, "Moth-er! Mr. Bill thinks his car scared all the old cow ghosts in the stalls." When he and Marian were in bed, Catherine came back to the living room, the square envelope from the Bureau in her hand. "It's queer you two should come to-night," she said. "I need you to talk to." Bill had settled in the old fiddle-back walnut chair, the smoke from his pipe turning his lined face into a dim gargoyle. Dr. Henrietta was fitting a cigarette into her long amber holder. "Charles hasn't been here much this summer, has he?" she asked. "Only occasional week-ends." Catherine sat down on the footstool on the hearth. The light shone through the loosened brown hair about her face and turned her throat to pale ivory. "He was here a week ago." "Your sister? Has she been here?" "No. She decided to spend her vacation in the mountains with that friend of hers. Nobody's been here! I haven't seen anyone since last May, except for flying shots at Charles. If I begin to spout a Mother Goose rhyme at you, you might understand why." "Well, you haven't the mossy look I connect with mothers," said Henrietta, as she smoked in quick little spurts. "Have a cigarette?" She tossed her silver case into Catherine's lap. "Sworn off." Catherine ran her finger over the monogram. "Amelia would know I was a fallen woman--haven't lighted one since--oh, since Charles came back from France." "Didn't he care for those home fires?" Bill took his pipe out of his teeth, drawled his question, and went on with his inspection of the flames. Catherine laughed. "Tell me what you two have been doing since I saw you." Henrietta retrieved her case and extracted a second cigarette. "Same things. Babies, clinics, babies. Bill's had a bridge over in Jersey. The _Journal's_ taken a series of articles I did on that gland work last year. Public school on the East Side is going to let me run sort of a laboratory clinic on malnutrition. Mother instinct down there feeds its infants on cabbage, fried cakes, and boiled tea." "You're a wonder, Henry." Catherine sighed. "Putting over what you want." "It's only these last few years, you know, that I've had any recognition." "You're a wonder, just the same. Isn't she, Bill?" "Um." Bill's grunt gave complete assent.