“I mustn’t. I promised that I’d take Mrs. Burrell for a drive this afternoon. I told one of the girls.” “More missionary work, I suppose. Auntie, if you don’t stop driving round with old frumps like that, I won’t recognize you on the street. Well, I guess I’ll go for a bicycle ride with Guy. He’s been promising to take me out to Chevy Chase for a long time. Don’t you think it would be proper?” “Can’t you get someone to go with you?” Helen asked, sipping her tea and wondering why she could not shake off, even for a moment, the thought of Franklin West’s remarks the night before. “I suppose I could get Mrs. Simpson. She’s always glad to have someone to ride with her.” “Do that, then,” said Helen. Fanny sighed. “What an awful thing to have to be so proper in this world!” When Helen had dressed she went up to the nursery, where she found Dorothy and Jack eating dinner. They seemed to be always eating. They jumped from their seats and clung around her. They wore their heavy street clothes and their thick boots. “I was going to take them out before dinner,” Miss Munroe explained, “but it seemed damp. So I thought I’d wait till the afternoon.” “Are you going out, mamma?” Jack asked, clutching at Helen’s dress. “Yes, by-and-by,” Helen replied, patiently. Dorothy immediately became plaintive. “Oh, can’t we go with you?” “Not to-day, dear. I’m going to take Mrs. Burrell for a drive.” “Oh, shoot Mrs. Burrell!” Dorothy cried. “Dorothy!” said Miss Munroe, reproachfully. Miss Munroe often wondered where the children learned their naughty words. They seemed to absorb them from the air. Sometimes she was afraid their parents would think they had learned them from her. “Papa came up before he went out,” said Jack. “He says he’s going to buy me a sword.” “Papa is always buying things for Jack!” Dorothy, with a little encouragement, would soon have burst into tears. Helen saw that the child was nervous from her morning in the house. “Take them out as soon as they have finished eating,” she said to Miss Munroe. As Helen descended the stairs she met Fanny and Guy just about to start out on their wheels. “I’ve telephoned Mrs. Simpson, and she’s going. She wants us to lunch with her. You don’t mind, do you, dear?” Fanny asked, solicitously, eager to seem important. “If you do, I’ll stay.” Helen shook her head. “No, your uncle won’t be here, and I’ll lunch late. So go and have a good time.” On the table of the library Helen found a pile of New York and Washington morning papers. She glanced at them to see what they had to say about the ball. Some of the New York papers made brief reference to it; one, the most sensational, published a long account. The Washington papers gave it considerable space. Just as she was turning a page of the New York _Chronicle_, Helen caught her husband’s name in one of the editorial columns. She turned back and read the paragraph: