_Mrs. Bradley Collingham, Jr._ Care _Mrs. Follett_ _11 Indiana Avenue_ _Pemberton Heights, N. J._ "I told the boy it didn’t belong here—" Gussie was beginning to explain when Gladys interrupted. "Yes, it does. Read that." Gussie read and read again. "Well, of all—" She stopped only because she lacked the words with which to continue. In the meanwhile Jennie had opened her telegram and read: Have asked father to engage best counsel in New York to defend boy. Sailing to-morrow on _Venezuela_, and will take all responsibilities off your hands. Placed two thousand dollars to your account at Pemberton National Bank. See manager. Devoted love. Your husband, _Bob_. Jennie let the yellow slip flutter to the entry floor while she stood gazing into the air. Gussie having picked it up, the two younger sisters read it together. "Some class!" Gladys commented, dryly. But Gussie could only stare at Jennie awesomely, as if a miracle had transformed her. CHAPTER XXII On landing from the _Venezuela_, Bob drove out to Collingham Lodge. He knew that by this time the family were in the Adirondacks, and that with Gull and his wife to look after him he should have the place to himself. Now that he was known to be married he had first thought it possible to bring Jennie there, but had decided that the big empty house might frighten her with its loneliness. A hotel in New York was what she would probably prefer; and with all he had to do for Teddy, it would doubtless be most convenient for himself. He went to his old home, therefore, only as to a base from which to make further arrangements. Having unpacked a few things and eaten a snack of lunch, he would go to see his wife at once. Though he had not expected to hear from her on landing, and still less to see her at the dock, he was faintly disappointed to receive neither of these forms of greeting. He reminded himself that not her coldness, but her inexperience, would account for this, and so made the more of his anticipations for the afternoon. She had written to him while he was away, short, noncommittal letters, betraying a mind unused to correspondence rather than a heart opposed to it. Lack of habit, he told himself, would for a long time to come make her seem unresponsive when she would only be hesitating and observant. It was the hot season at Marillo, and those houses which were not closed were somnolent. At Collingham Lodge, Max, with his madly joyful demonstrations, was the only expression of life. Within the house, the shades were down, the furniture befrocked. Nevertheless, it was home, and all the more home after the alien pageantry of the tropics and the south. Having bathed and changed his clothes, he found pleasure in roaming from one dim airless room to another, as if he had been absent for a year.