With a smile upon his lips and gravity she did not read in his eyes, he would hand her to the carriage, or commit her to the spruce maid, hoping that she would have a pleasant evening, and having stood upon the steps until she was no longer in sight, would go back—as she supposed—to sitting room or book. Whereas, it grew to be more and more a habit with him to turn into the nursery instead, and sit there in the dark until he heard the bustle of her return below-stairs. He invariably sat up for her—she never asked why or where. The fire burned cheerily to welcome her, and the offices of maid, assumed, in the beginning in loverly supererogation, half jest, half caress, were now duty and habit. Upon one point he was resolute. If she went to bed late, she must sleep late next morning. This was a matter of health, a concession she owed those to whom her health was all-important. The two older children had breakfasted with their parents for a year, and he made much of their company when their mother was not the fourth of the party. Sometimes he sent for the baby as well, holding her on his knee with one hand, while the other managed coffee cup and toast. Susie surprised him thus one morning, having awakened unsummoned, and dressed hastily that she might see him before he went out. “Arthur Cornell!” The ejaculation was the first intimation he had of her presence. “You spoil the children and make a slave of yourself! Where is their nurse?” “Don’t blame Ellen, dear!” checking her motion toward the bell. “I sent for the children. They are very good, and I enjoy their company.” Mrs. Cornell flushed hotly; her lips were compressed. “I understand! After this, I will make a point of giving you your breakfast. It was never _my_ wish to lie in bed until this hour.” “It was—and is mine!” rejoined her husband, steadily, unmoved by her unwonted petulance. “As it is, you are pale and heavy-eyed. You have had but five hours of sleep.” “My head aches!” passing her hand over her forehead. “That will go off, by-and-by. Baby! come to mamma, and let dear papa get his breakfast in peace. Let me pour out a cup of hot coffee for you, first.” Her softened tone and fond smile cleared the atmosphere for them all. Arthur sunned himself in her presence as a half-torpid bird on an early spring day. The children prattled merrily in answer to the pretty mother’s blandishments; the baby stood up in her lap to make her fat arms meet behind her neck. She looked pleadingly into the proud face bent over mother and child. He was startled to see that the sweet eyes were misty. “Dear! can’t you go with me to-night?” He fairly staggered at the unexpected appeal. “If I had known——” he began. “Yes, I know! I ought to have spoken before you made your engagement. I was careless—forgetful—silly! I do nothing but silly things nowadays. But I _wish_ you could go, darling!”