"The cares of housekeeping sit lightly on her," remarked Helen, as they all strolled toward the porch. "What if the new servants are slack and wasteful? Being a man you wouldn’t know; being Steve, she doesn’t worry. I see that it’s going to devolve on me. Is it possible to run two baths in this house at the same time?" "Is it?" inquired Stephanie of Cleland. "I forget." "Yes," he replied, "if you don’t draw too much hot water." "Take yours first, Helen," she said. "I’ll sit in this cool library and gossip with Jim for a while." She unpinned her hat and flung it on a sofa, untied a large box of bonbons, and careless of her charmingly disordered hair, vaulted to a seat on the massive centre table—a favourite perch of hers when a young girl. Helen lingered to raid the bonbons; Cleland immediately began his pet theme: "Why do Americans eat candy? Because the nation doesn’t know how to cook! The French don’t stuff themselves with candy. There isn’t, in Paris, a candy-shop to the linear mile! That’s because French stomachs, being properly fed with properly and deliciously cooked food, don’t crave candy. But in a country noted for its wretched and detestable bread——" "Oh, you always say that," remarked Stephanie. "Some day I’ll go over and find out how much truth there is in your tirades. Meanwhile, I shall consume candy." "When you go over," he said, "you’ll go with me." His voice was low. Helen had strolled into the "best room" and was standing there with a bitter chocolate between her fingers, contemplating the old-time furniture. "When I go over to Paris," said Stephanie airily, "I shall invite whom I choose." "Who will it be?" "Oh, some agreeable young man who isn’t too bossy," she returned airily. "Somebody who doesn’t try to place me in a day nursery while he goes about and has his fling. But, of course, that doesn’t mean you. You’ve had your fling, haven’t you?" "Not too violently," he said. "That is your story. But I think I’ll investigate it when I go over, and tell you what I’ve found out when I return." Helen finished her chocolate and came back. "Where the dickens is that unhappy cat, do you suppose?" she inquired. "Oh, she’ll turn up at dinner-time," Cleland reassured her. "Do you know where your room is, Helen?" "How should I?" returned that young lady, "—never having been in the house before——" "Dear, forgive me!" cried Stephanie, jumping from her perch and passing one arm around Helen’s shoulders. They went away together, the former waving a saucy adieu to Cleland behind her back, without turning. She did not return. So he concluded to get himself into fresh flannels, the late afternoon having grown very warm and promising a close and humid evening. But when he descended again from his room, he found nobody except the cat, who, sadly disfigured by coal-dust, advanced toward him with amiable intention.