“She does. I mean she did. But she couldn't come. She broke her leg--fell off the stepladder where she was three days ago. So I _had_ to do it. And to-day, someway, everything went wrong. I burned me, and I cut me, and I used two sodas with not any cream of tartar, and I should think I didn't know anything, not anything!” And down went Billy's head into the pillows again in another burst of sobs. With gentle yet uncompromising determination, Bertram gathered his wife into his arms and carried her to the big chair. There, for a few minutes, he soothed and petted her as if she were a tired child--which, indeed, she was. “Billy, this thing has got to stop,” he said then. There was a very inexorable ring of decision in his voice. “What thing?” “This housework business.” Billy sat up with a jerk. “But, Bertram, it isn't fair. You can't--you mustn't--just because of to-day! I _can_ do it. I have done it. I've done it days and days, and it's gone beautifully--even if they did say I couldn't!” “Couldn't what?” “Be an e-efficient housekeeper.” “Who said you couldn't?” “Aunt Hannah and K-Kate.” Bertram said a savage word under his breath. “Holy smoke, Billy! I didn't marry you for a cook or a scrub-lady. If you _had_ to do it, that would be another matter, of course; and if we did have to do it, we wouldn't have a big house like this for you to do it in. But I didn't marry for a cook, and I knew I wasn't getting one when I married you.” Billy bridled into instant wrath. “Well, I like that, Bertram Henshaw! Can't I cook? Haven't I proved that I can cook?” Bertram laughed, and kissed the indignant lips till they quivered into an unwilling smile. “Bless your spunky little heart, of course you have! But that doesn't mean that I want you to do it. You see, it so happens that you can do other things, too; and I'd rather you did those. Billy, you haven't played to me for a week, nor sung to me for a month. You're too tired every night to talk, or read together, or go anywhere with me. I married for companionship--not cooking and sweeping!” Billy shook her head stubbornly. Her mouth settled into determined lines. “That's all very well to say. You aren't hungry now, Bertram. But it's different when you are, and they said 'twould be.” “Humph! 'They' are Aunt Hannah and Kate, I suppose.” “Yes--and the 'Talk to Young Wives.'” “The w-what?” Billy choked a little. She had forgotten that Bertram did not know about the “Talk to Young Wives.” She wished that she had not mentioned the book, but now that she had, she would make the best of it. She drew herself up with dignity. “It's a book; a very nice book. It says lots of things--that have come true.” “Where is that book? Let me see it, please.” With visible reluctance Billy got down from her perch on Bertram's knee, went to her desk and brought back the book. Bertram regarded it frowningly, so frowningly that Billy hastened to its defense.