"Have you noticed the change in Mr. Brenton since the baby came, Reed?" Olive inquired abruptly. "I've hardly seen him. From all accounts, he is devoting most of his spare time to my father. What is the baby like, Olive?" "Ugly as sin; but Mr. Brenton believes him an Adonis." "What about the mother?" "Eddyizing fast." "What?" The word burst simultaneously from both the men. "Didn't you know? Yes, it is a malignant case. I only hope it won't go round the family." "Babies are holy, and therefore immune; Brenton has too much sense. But is it a fact, Olive?" Opdyke questioned. "It evidently is a fact that you are a poor, shut-in invalid, and not brought up to date in local gossip," Olive told him tranquilly. "I can't see how you have missed hearing of it, Reed, even if it did escape my mind. Yes, it seems to be a fact that everybody is questioning and nobody is disputing. Of course, though, nobody is in a position to testify absolutely." "Your father?" "She has dismissed him. At least," and Olive corrected herself with ostentatious care; "she says that her health no longer needs him, although she always shall value him greatly as a well-tried friend." Opdyke pondered. Then he said,-- "The d--" "Arling!" Dolph made hasty substitution. "But I fancy he is well-tried, all right, if he has had to dance professional attendance on her. Where'd she catch it, Olive?" "Nobody knows. My father says it is like any other germ, floats around in the air and is harmless, until it lights on some degenerate tissue. But then, he never did like Mrs. Brenton." "The question is," Dolph said, with sudden gravity; "will Brenton get it? I'd rather he'd be afflicted with curacy than with this other thing." "Curacy?" Olive questioned. "What's that?" "Acting like this curate chap, and giving his congregation red-hot pap for their Sabbatic food. At least, that's curable; the other isn't." But Reed shook his head. Despite his unvarying point of view, he knew Scott Brenton better. "You don't need to worry about Brenton," he assured them. "He has some common sense and a little logic; both things render him immune." Dolph settled back in his chair and crossed his legs. "Yes, Olive, I intend to outstay you," he said, in answer to her glance. "You were here first; it's your turn to go now. But about this latest freak of Mrs. Brenton: where do you suppose she picked it up?" "Evolved it from within." "Doubted. I've talked to her, Opdyke; she's not the kind to evolve anything, certainly not a full-fledged case of--" Olive interrupted. "There is some good in it, though," she persisted. "Where?" Opdyke asked her. "The complexion; it's better than any amount of massage. One never wrinkles, when one is convinced that nothing can go wrong." "What about measles?" Dolph demanded pertly. But Reed objected to the trivial interlude.