"Six-TEN! Oh, my poor abused baby--and I should have been here at quarter before six!" She was all mother as she ran upstairs. Had he been crying? Oh, he had been crying! Poor little old duck of a hungry boy, did he have a bad, wicked mother that never remembered him! He was in her arms in an instant, and the laughing maid carried away her hat and wrap without disturbing his meal. Rachael leaned back in the big chair, panting comfortably, as much relieved over his relief as he was. The wedding was forgotten. She was at home again; she could presently put this baby down and have a little interval of hugging and 'tories with Jimmy. "You'll get your lovely dress all mussed," said old Mary in high approval. "Never mind, Mary!" her mistress said in luxurious ease before the fire, "there are plenty of dresses!" A week later Warren came in, in the late afternoon, to say that he had met Miss Clay downtown, and they had had tea together. She suggested tea, and he couldn't well get out of it. He would have telephoned Rachael had he fancied she would care to come. She had been out? That was what he thought. But how about a little dinner for Magsie? Did she think it would be awfully stupid? "No, she's not stupid," Rachael said cordially. "Let's do it!" "Oh, I don't mean stupid for us," Warren hastened to explain. "I mean stupid for her!" "Why should it be stupid for her?" Rachael looked at him in surprise. "Well, she's awfully young, and she's getting a lot of attention, and perhaps she'd think it a bore!" "I don't imagine Magsie Clay would find a dinner here in her honor a bore," Rachael said in delicate scorn. "Why, think who she is, Warren--a nurse's daughter! Her father was--I don't know what--an enlisted man, who rose to be a sergeant!" "I don't believe it!" he said flatly. "It's true, Warren. I've known that for years--everybody knows it!" "Well," Warren Gregory said stubbornly, "she's making a great hit just the same. She's going up to the Royces' next week for the Bowditch theatricals, and she's asked to the Pinckard dinner dance. She may not go on account of her mourning." "Her mourning is rather absurd under the circumstances," Rachael said vaguely, antagonized against anyone he chose to defend. "And if people choose to treat her as if she were Mrs. Frothingham's daughter instead of what she really is, it's nice for Magsie! But I don't see why we should." "We might because she is such a nice, simple girl," Warren suggested, "and because we like her! I'm not trying to keep in the current; I've no social axe to grind; I merely suggested it, and if you don't want to--" "Oh, of course, if you put it that way!" Rachael said with a faint shrug.. "I'll get hold of some eligibles--we'll have Charlie, and have rather a youthful dinner!" Warren, who was shaving, was silent for a few minutes, then he said thoughtfully: