"I can't understand----" She laid resisting fingers on his arm. "Of course you can't. That's one of your charms, Mort, dear. It's much better for a woman to be misunderstood. The husband who 'understands' his wife is on the highway to purgatory. Ask no more questions. If I answer them I surely will lie to you." "What the deuce can Daggett and McDade be doing for you. They're job-printers. They don't engrave your cards or stationery or anything----" "N----o," with a rising inflection. "Well--what?" "I needed some printing." "Well, why not go to Tiffany's? The idea of your sending me away over on the East side----" "They're such adorable printers, Mort." "Who ever heard of a printer being adorable? Fudge! What's the game now? Can't you tell a fellow?" "No," firmly. Crabb always recognized the note of finality in his wife's voice, so he merely shrugged his shoulders and followed her with his eyes as she blew another kiss in his direction and vanished up the stairs. In the privacy of her own room Patricia did some cryptic things with newspapers, a pair of scissors, and the package from the adorable printers, and when she had finished, she folded up the newspapers, with their mysterious contents, including the scissors, and with a fleeting glance at herself in the mirror, went down stairs. She entered the library noiselessly and after a glance at her guests at the tea-table, she slipped her package into the drawer of the library table and joined them. "How envious you make me--you two," she sighed, sinking into a chair, "you're so satisfied with yourselves--and with each other." DeLaunay smiled and fingered his tea-cup. "Would you have it otherwise?" he asked. "Oh, no," she said lightly, "I'm a professional nursery governess to polite and well-meaning persons of opposite sexes. Nursery governesses are not permitted emotions or opinions of any kind, my dears." "But even nursery governesses are human, I am told," said DeLaunay, showing his white teeth. "Are they? _My_ governesses never were. They were all inhuman--like me. The sight of youthful license arouses all my professional instincts. That's why I'm in such demand by despairing mothers of romantic heiresses." "Patty! you're horrid." Aurora's heavily lidded eyes opened wide. "I'm not romantic--not in the least--and I'm _not_ an heiress----" "Oh," said Patricia. "At least," Aurora amended, "not in the modern sense. But it wouldn't matter to Louis or to me if we--really had to work for our living. I'm so anxious to be of some use in the world. Oh, we've planned that already, haven't we, Louis?" "Yes," said DeLaunay, crisply, with a glance of defiance in his eye for Patricia. "We have planned that." Patricia's lips twisted, but she said nothing. "I sometimes think, Patty," went on Aurora, "that you're a little unsympathetic. Won't you really like to see us married?" Patricia laughed. "Oh, yes--but not to each other." "Why not?"