“Sure! And 'twas just before you came--quite a while before. A big shiny black automobile like this drove up--only it wasn't quite such a nice one--an' Mrs. Henshaw an' a man came out of your house an' got in, an' drove right away _quick!_ They just ran to get into it, too--didn't they?” She appealed to her young mates grouped about her. A chorus of shrill exclamations brought Mr. Bertram Henshaw suddenly to his senses. By a desperate effort he hid his angry annoyance as he turned to the manifestly embarrassed young woman who was already descending the steps. “My dear Miss Winthrop,” he apologized contritely, “I'm sure you'll forgive this seeming great rudeness on the part of my wife. Notwithstanding the lurid tales of our young friends here, I suspect nothing more serious has happened than that my wife has been hastily summoned to Aunt Hannah, perhaps. Or, of course, she may not have understood that you were coming to-day at half-past three--though I thought she did. But I'm so sorry--when you were so kind as to come--” Miss Winthrop interrupted with a quick gesture. “Say no more, I beg of you,” she entreated. “Mrs. Henshaw is quite excusable, I'm sure. Please don't give it another thought,” she finished, as with a hurried direction to the man who was holding open the door of her car, she stepped inside and bowed her good-byes. Bertram, with stern self-control, forced himself to walk nonchalantly up his steps, leisurely take out his key, and open his door, under the interested eyes of Bessie Bailey and her friends; but once beyond their hateful stare, his demeanor underwent a complete change. Throwing aside his hat and coat, he strode to the telephone. “Oh, is that you, Aunt Hannah?” he called crisply, a moment later. “Well, if Billy's there will you tell her I want to speak to her, please?” “Billy?” answered Aunt Hannah's slow, gentle tones. “Why, my dear boy, Billy isn't here!” “She isn't? Well, when did she leave? She's been there, hasn't she?” “Why, I don't think so, but I'll see, if you like. Mrs. Greggory and I have just this minute come in from an automobile ride. We would have stayed longer, but it began to get chilly, and I forgot to take one of the shawls that I'd laid out.” “Yes; well, if you will see, please, if Billy has been there, and when she left,” said Bertram, with grim self-control. “All right. I'll see,” murmured Aunt Hannah. In a few moments her voice again sounded across the wires. “Why, no, Bertram, Rosa says she hasn't been here since yesterday. Isn't she there somewhere about the house? Didn't you know where she was going?” “Well, no, I didn't--else I shouldn't have been asking you,” snapped the irate Bertram and hung up the receiver with most rude haste, thereby cutting off an astounded “Oh, my grief and conscience!” in the middle of it.