A pained expression came into Oliver’s eyes. “The trouble is, I’ve always looked upon her as a—well, as a sort of sister or something like that. We grew up just like brother and sister. How was I to know that she was pretty? A fellow never thinks of his sister as being pretty, does he?” “I suppose not. But, on the other hand, he never loses his appetite and mopes and has the blues if his sister happens to take a fancy to a man who isn’t her brother. That’s what you’ve been doing for two or three weeks. If you had the least bit of gumption you’d up and tell her you can’t stand being a brother to her any longer and you’d like to be something else—if it isn’t too late.” “Gee!” exclaimed he, ruefully. “But suppose she was to say it is too late?” “That’s a nice way for a soldier to talk,” said Mrs. Grimes scathingly. He saw very little of Jane during the days that followed Mrs. Sage’s return. Her mother demanded much of her; she was constantly in attendance upon the pampered lady. Oliver chafed. He complained to Jane on one of the rare occasions when they were alone together. “Why, you’re nothing but a lady’s maid, Jane. You’ve been home five days and I haven’t had a chance to say ten words to you. Now, don’t misunderstand me. I’m fond of Aunt Josephine. She’s great fun, but, hang it all, she’s right smack in the center of the stage all the time. It isn’t fair, Jane. You can’t go on being a slave to her. She—” “She has always had some one to wait on her, Oliver,” said Jane. “I don’t mind. I am really very fond of her. And she is just beginning to care for me. At first, I think she was a little afraid of me. She couldn’t believe that I was real. The other day—in Chicago—she suddenly reached out and touched my arm and said: ‘It doesn’t seem possible that you ever squalled and made the night hideous for me and your poor father. I can’t believe that you are the same little baby I used to fondle and spank when I wasn’t any older than you are now.’ Besides, Oliver, I like doing things for her. It makes father happy.” “But it doesn’t make me happy,” he grumbled. Then his face brightened. “Wasn’t she great last night when she got started on Uncle Horace and—and all this hullabaloo he’s stirring up?” The fourth day after his wife’s return to Rumley, Mr. Sage blurted out the question that had lain captive in his mind for weeks. “If it is a fair question, my dear, would you mind telling me just why you came back to me?” She leaned back in her chair and studied the ceiling for a few minutes before answering.