"Marian's stomach seemed a little upset yesterday," confided Miss Kelly. "We'll have our salad now." Catherine dismissed the question. But after dinner, when Letty had been led protestingly away for her nap, and Miss Kelly, armed with a volume of Andersen's "Fairy Tales," reappeared in the living room, Catherine couldn't resist the swift entreaty of Spencer's eyes. "Miss Kelly," she said, placatingly, "if you would like to go home now, I can read to the children. I am quite free this afternoon." Miss Kelly agreed placidly. When she had gone, Spencer stood a moment beside Catherine, his eyes intent on her face; Catherine saw a wavering tenseness in his look. He wanted to hurl himself at her, and he didn't want to. She couldn't reach out for him, if he felt too grown-up for such expression. She smiled at him, and with a huge sigh he settled into the wicker chair, one foot curled beneath him. "She was glad to go home, wasn't she?" he said. "I'm glad she went," announced Marian. "She bosses me." "Good for you," said Spencer. "Mother, read us 'Treasure Island.' I'm sick of old fairies." Margaret came in, her ring waking Letty. Catherine laughed at the unconcealed expectancy with which the children welcomed their aunt. "You've ruined them," she said, as Marian danced up the hall, her eyes wide with anticipation for the packages Margaret carried. "Well, they are delighted to see their old aunt, anyway!" Margaret dropped to the floor, scattering the bundles, her hands held over them in teasing delay. "Your dress, Marg! On the floor in that?" "Just a rag. Here, Letitia, your turn first." Catherine went back to her chair to watch the orgy. Margaret was extravagant as water. "It isn't really a rag, Aunt Margie, is it?" Spencer had his head on one side, deliberating. "It looks like--like pigeons." "If I could find a gentleman of your discrimination, Spen, I'd grab him in a jiffy!" "It is like pigeons, isn't it, Mother?" Spencer looked perplexed. "Yes." Catherine wished Margaret wouldn't tease him. She was lovely, her gray-silver draperies floating around her slim, curving figure, the purple glinting through. It was like a pigeon's breast, that dress. Letty had a doll, soft and round and almost as large as Letty herself. "Company for you, when your mother's off at work." Letty's arms were fast about it, and her deep voice intoned a constant, "Pretty doll! pretty doll!" until Marian's present appeared from its wrappings. "You stand on it and jump, this way." Margaret was on her feet, her suède toes balancing on the crosspiece. "Letty jump!" "Not in here!" Catherine reached for the stick. "You idiots! You'll knock the plaster off." "Letty jump!" Catherine bundled Letty and the doll into her lap. "Let's see what Spencer draws." "Spencer was a difficult proposition." Margaret smiled at him. "I thought of a rubber ball, and then I remembered he had one. So I got this." She poked the box into his hands.