“Oh, those mistakes are always happening,” Mrs. Burrell replied, greatly relieved now that she had got what she wanted. “Why, when we had our coming-out party for our oldest girl there was at least three families in Auburn that wouldn’t look at me. How I happened to forget to invite ’em I couldn’t understand, to save my life. But I didn’t try to explain. It was no use. I just let it go.” Douglas Briggs sighed. Mrs. Burrell represented the type of woman before whom he had most difficulty in maintaining his air of confidential friendliness. For her husband, the shrewd old business man from Maine, who was serving his first term in Congress, he felt a genuine liking. His weariness at this moment prompted him to make one of his pleasant speeches. When most bored he always tried hardest to be agreeable. “There was no need of your asking for invitations for to-night,” he said. “We hope you know us well enough to bring your daughters without invitations.” Mrs. Burrell softened. Her sharp little gray eyes grew moist. “Well, I think you’re just as good as you can be,” she said. She looked vaguely about, as if not knowing what to say. “Well, it _is_ lovely!” she went on. “It’s splendid having these big entries. They’re just as good as rooms. And those lovely tapestries on the wall downstairs--where in the world did you get ’em?” “They were bought for us by a dealer in New York,” Briggs explained, patiently. He wondered how long Mrs. Burrell could stand without moving. At that moment the old lady turned and offered her hand to Helen. “Well, good-bye again. The girls will be waiting for me at the hotel. I guess they’ll be glad.” As soon as Mrs. Burrell started down the stairs Douglas Briggs turned to his wife. “You must be tired, dear,” he said. “You ought to have been resting this afternoon.” “Oh, no. I’m not tired, really.” She let him take her hand and she smiled back into his face. “What is it?” she asked. “Nothing.” He pressed her hand more tightly. “Only I’m glad to see you again, that’s all.” He placed his left hand on her forehead and drew her head back. Then he kissed her on the lips. She drew away from him with a smile. “We haven’t much time. We have a great many things to do yet.” “I must take a peep at the children,” he said. “I wonder if they’re asleep yet.” “I think Miss Munroe is giving them their supper.” The children, who had recognized the footsteps, were at the door to meet them. Dorothy, a fat, laughing girl of seven, ran forward and threw herself into her father’s arms, and Jack, two years younger, trotted after her. “Oh, you big girl!” Briggs exclaimed, “you’ll take all my breath away.” She kissed him again and again, laughing as his mustache tickled her face. Jack was tugging at her skirts, trying to pull her down. “Let me! Let me!” he insisted. Briggs placed Dorothy on the floor and took up the boy. “How are you to-day, sonny?” he asked, as he let the thick, yellow curls fall over his eyes.