Then she invited the Baron for a week end, and made certain preparations. Then she waited his arrival with her nerves tingling. She met her husband and the Baron at the steps as they ascended from the machine which brought them from the station. "Ah monsieur! so glad! I was wondering if you'd be here in time for tea." "Wild horses could not have detained me longer, from a glimpse of your _beaux yeux_, Madame." He bent forward with a handsome gesture and kissed the tips of Patricia's fingers, but she laughed gaily. "Don't waste pretty speeches, Baron. Besides----" she paused significantly and pointed toward the door through which her husband's shoulders had disappeared, "she is there," she finished. "_Hélas!_" The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders expressively; then straightened and showed his teeth in a smile. "Since my speeches are wasted, I will follow you in, Madame." Patricia paused. "All the world loves a lover--even I----" "Yes--yes----" "If I could be sure that you loved----" "You?" "Her," sternly. He shrugged again, "Ah, yes--I love her--of course! Why, otherwise, should I wish to marry her?" "I wonder," slowly, "why you speak of my _beaux yeux_?" she said thoughtfully. "Because I cannot help it----" "A lover should be blind," she put in. "Like a husband?" he asked, significantly. "Like a wife," she corrected, soberly. He followed her indoors, where Aurora met them at the door of the library. "Tea, Aurora," she announced. "Will you pour it? Mort and I will be in in a moment." She hovered in the doorway insistently until she saw DeLaunay safely seated on the davenport at the tea-table by Aurora's side, and only then she departed in the direction of the smoking room. Mortimer Crabb was drinking a glass of whiskey and water. At the sound of his wife's voice he turned. "Did you get it, Mort?" she asked. For reply he fumbled in the pockets of his dust-coat and brought forth a small package. "Oh, yes. Here it is. Pretty insignificant affair to make such a fuss about," and he handed it to her. "It's the little things that mean the most, my dear husband--like that," she said significantly, "and this," and she kissed him for his reward. He held her away from him and looked at her good-humoredly--the quizzical humor that was characteristic of him. "You never kiss me unless you're up to some mischief, Patty." "Then you ought to be glad I'm mischievous, Mort. It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good." "H--m. Why all the mystery? Can't you tell a fellow?" She shook her head. "No." "Why not?" "Because then you don't know as much as I do." "Why shouldn't I?" he protested. "I'm your husband." "Because if you knew as much as I do----" She paused. "You know, Mort, it's only the ignorant husband who's entirely, blissfully happy." "I'm not so sure about that," he laughed. "Aren't you happy, Mort?" she asked. "Ah, hang it, yes. But----" "Then there's nothing left to be said," and she kissed him again.