The baby sat calmly on a rug, in the middle of Charlotte's room, engaged in pulling the leaves, one by one, out of a small sketch-book which had been on the table with the drawings. She looked up, a most engaging and innocent expression on her round face, and smiled at Charlotte. But she met no smile in return. "You little wretch!" breathed Charlotte, between her teeth, as she seized the sketch-book and whirled the baby to her feet. "_Oh!_ Is this the way you pay me for all I've done for you? You _wicked--cruel--heartless_----" It was the explosion of a blind wrath which made the girl shake the tiny form until Baby Ellen roared lustily. Charlotte set her upon the floor again, and stood looking down at her with blazing eyes. The small head was clasped in two little fists, as the child tore at her yellow curls, her infant soul stirred to indignation and fright at this most unexpected treatment. Suddenly Charlotte seized her again and bore her swiftly away to Captain Rayburn's room. "Take care of her for an hour? Surely. But what's the matter?" It was small wonder he asked, for Charlotte's face was white, her eyes brilliant, and her lips quivering as she spoke: "It's nothing--only baby has spoiled something of mine, and I'm so angry I don't dare trust myself with her." She dropped little Ellen in his arms and fled, leaving her uncle to think what he might. He looked grave as he soothed the baby, whose small breast still heaved convulsively. "Are you conscientiously trying to do your full share in developing our little second fiddle's capacity to play first?" he asked the baby, with his face against hers. "Never mind, little one, never mind. Baby doesn't know--but John Rayburn does--that this being a means of education to other people is a thankless task sometimes. Don't cry. Aunty Charlotte will kiss her hard and fast by and by, to make up for losing her temper with the little maid. I suspect you were very, very trying, to make Aunty Charlotte look like that." Charlotte came down-stairs after a time and attended to the luncheon, her lips pressed tight together, her eyes heavy--although not with tears. She would not let herself cry. Celia had a headache and did not notice, being herself disinclined to talk, and Captain Rayburn forbore to look at Charlotte. But Jeff, when he came in, observed at once that something was amiss. As soon as the meal was over he drew Charlotte into a corner. "You haven't been to Murdock with the pictures and been--turned down?" he asked. "No." "Going this afternoon, aren't you?" "No." "Why not? Thought that was the plan." Charlotte turned away, fighting hard for self-control. Jeff caught her arm. "See here, Fiddle, you've got to tell me. You look like a ghost. No bad news--from New Mexico?" "Oh, no--no! Please go away." "I won't till you tell me what's up. You're not sick?"