The last week in April Mrs. Carrie Payson went to French Lick Springs with Belle--Mrs. Payson for her rheumatism, Belle for her digestive trouble. Henry, looking more worried and distrait than ever, was to follow them at the end of the week. You rarely heard his big booming laugh now. Mrs. Payson and her daughter Belle had never before gone away together. Always it had been Lottie who had accompanied her mother. Lottie was rather apprehensive about the outcome of the proximity of the two. Belle did not appear to relish the prospect particularly; but she said she needed the cure, and Henry had finally convinced her of the utter impossibility of his going. He was rather alarmingly frank about it. "Can't afford it, Belle," he said, "and that's the God's truth. Business is--well, there isn't any, that's all. You need the rest and all and I want you to go. I'll try to come down for Saturday and Sunday but don't count on me. I may have to go to New York any day now." He did leave for New York that week, before the French Lick trip. Lottie and Charley took them down to the station in the Kemps' big car with the expert Charley at the wheel. Mrs. Payson kept up a steady stream of admonition, reminder, direction, caution, advice. The house was to undergo the April semiannual cleaning during her absence. "Call up Amos again about the rugs and mattresses ... in the yard, remember; and you've got to watch him every minute ... every inch of the woodwork with warm water--not hot! ... a little ammonia ... the backs of the pictures ... a pot-roast and cut it up cold for the cleaning woman's lunch and give her plenty of potatoes ... the parlour curtains...." The train was gone. Lottie and Charley stood looking at each other for a moment, wordlessly. They burst into rather wild laughter. Then they embraced. People in the station must have thought one of them a traveller just returned from afar. They clasped hands and raced for the car. "Let's go for a drive," said Charley. It was ten-thirty at night. "All right," agreed Lottie. Charley swung the car back into Michigan, then up Michigan headed north. The air was deliciously soft and balmy for April in Chicago. They whisked up Lake Shore Drive and into Lincoln Park. Lottie was almost ashamed of the feeling of freedom, of relaxation, of exaltation that flooded her whole being. She felt alive, and tingling and light. She was smiling unconsciously. On the way back Charley drew up at the curb along the outside drive at the edge of Lincoln Park, facing the lake. They sat wordlessly for a brief space in the healing quiet and peace and darkness, with the waves lipping the stones at their feet. "Nice," from Charley. "Mm."