“Oh, Herta’s mad about him,—dear me, some days I never see him at all. He’s terribly self-willed. I spoiled him those first months because we—we were all so happy,” she flushed as she went ahead. “Then Dan went away and I saw my duty as a war worker. I really have lived in the fullest sense since I went in for public work. Thurley, let’s be friends—I used to think I envied you because Dan had once loved you so,” there was a trace of the old Lorraine as she spoke, but with a surety of opinion which told Thurley that Lorraine’s husband now loved only his wife! “Boy made it all so different. Now I envy you because you are free, unhampered, able to do things—I’d be in France if I could.” Herta appeared with Boy in her arms, a splendid little chap if he had had a little more grooming. There were telltale hollows under his pinkish rimmed eyes indicative of nervous spasms, of unattended or unchecked sobs, his hands were soiled and scratched and a blue-black bump stood out over one temple; he tried his best both to abuse and welcome his mother in his incoherent greeting. “Oh, see his poor head.” Thurley took him from the girl’s unwilling arms. “Didn’t you put anything on it?” she asked her sharply. “He’s got an awful temper,” the girl retorted. “He fights me off for fair. I would have, but he didn’t want it—so I let him cry it out.” Lorraine interposed, “It is my own fault—I never left him alone at first and it makes it hard for any one else who looks after him.” Thurley sat down to rock Boy. “I should think you wouldn’t let a baby’s nerves be an excuse for neglecting him,” she said to her own surprise. “He must have sobbed and sobbed—and see,” pointing to traces of dried and goo-ey egg around his mouth. “Oh, we scrub him up at night—it really doesn’t pay to keep him like a doll.... I want to show you my letters of recommendation.” Lorraine vanished with Thurley following reluctantly, Boy in her arms playing with her sash fringe. The entire house had the neglected look which the town had prophesied Thurley’s house would have should she marry Dan—dust over everything, unpolished floors, a careless air of hurried living, merely existing within the four walls in order to escape without. Herta poked herself after them, with a look of disapproval as she watched Thurley. When Thurley refused to surrender Boy, but sat down to listen to this new and surprising Lorraine tell of her work and aims, mentioning Dan casually, of how surprised he would be at her development, the young guardesses below set up a chorus of protests and came bounding into the room with a quick hullo to Boy and a “Mercy, what a bruise,” settling themselves on the divan to explain their life-work to Thurley.