“Yes, yes, Aunt Hannah, I know,” moaned Billy, frenziedly. “But I am a wife, and I'm not an efficient housekeeper; and Hugh Calderwell won't wait for me to learn. He's coming to-night. _To-night!_ And I've got to do something. Never mind. I'll fix it some way. Good-by!” “But, Billy, Billy! Oh, my grief and conscience,” fluttered Aunt Hannah's voice across the wires as Billy snapped the receiver into place. For the second time that day Billy backed palpitatingly against the wall. Her eyes sought the clock fearfully. Fifteen minutes past four. She had an hour and three quarters. She could, of course, telephone Bertram to dine Calderwell at a club or some hotel. But to do this now, the very first time, when it had been her own suggestion that he “bring them home”--no, no, she could not do that! Anything but that! Besides, very likely she could not reach Bertram, anyway. Doubtless he had left the Winthrops' by this time. There was Marie. She could telephone Marie. But Marie could not very well come just now, she knew; and then, too, there was Cyril to be taken into consideration. How Cyril would gibe at the wife who had to call in all the neighbors just because her husband was bringing home a friend to dinner! How he would--Well, he shouldn't! He should not have the chance. So, there! With a jerk Mrs. Bertram Henshaw pulled herself away from the wall and stood erect. Her eyes snapped, and the very poise of her chin spelled determination. Very well, she would show them. Was not Bertram bringing this man home because he was proud of her? Mighty proud he would be if she had to call in half of Boston to get his dinner for him! Nonsense! She would get it herself. Was not this the time, if ever, to be an oak? A vine, doubtless, would lean and cling and telephone, and whine “I can't!” But not an oak. An oak would hold up its head and say “I can!” An oak would go ahead and get that dinner. She would be an oak. She would get that dinner. What if she didn't know how to cook bread and cake and pies and things? One did not have to cook bread and cake and pies just to get a dinner--meat and potatoes and vegetables! Besides, she _could_ make peach fritters. She knew she could. She would show them! And with actually a bit of song on her lips, Billy skipped up-stairs for her ruffled apron and dust-cap--two necessary accompaniments to this dinner-getting, in her opinion. Billy found the apron and dust-cap with no difficulty; but it took fully ten of her precious minutes to unearth from its obscure hiding-place the blue-and-gold “Bride's Helper” cookbook, one of Aunt Hannah's wedding gifts. On the way to the kitchen, Billy planned her dinner. As was natural, perhaps, she chose the things she herself would like to eat.