"Why of course," cried Penfield Evans, reaching for his hat. "Just you bring Hanna right along, Miss Emelene. That's only a pet pose of George's when he wants to tease his relatives, Mrs. Smith. I remember from college--why I've seen George _kiss_ a cat!" Miss Emelene huddled the object of controversy up in her chin, talking down into the warm gray fur. "Was 'em tryin' to 'buse muvver's ittsie bittsie kittsie? Muvver's ittsie bittsie kittsie!" They were in the front hall now, Mr. Evans tugging at the door. "I'll run around now and arrange to have your trunks called for at five. My congratulations and thanks, ladies, for helping the right man toward the right cause." "You're _sure_, Penfield, we'll be welcome?" "Welcome as the sun that shines!" "If I thought, Penfield, that Hanna wouldn't be welcome I wouldn't budge a step." "Of course she's welcome, Miss Emelene. Isn't she of the gentler sex? There'll be a cab around for you and Mrs. Smith and Hanna about five. So long, Mrs. Smith, and many thanks. Miss Emelene, Hanna." On the outer steps they stood for a moment in a dapple of sunshine and shadow from chestnut trees. "Good-by, Mr. Evans, until evening." "Good-by, Mrs. Smith." He paused on the walk, lifting his hat and flashing his smile a third time. "Good-by, Miss Emelene." From the steps Miss Brand executed a rotary motion with the left paw of the dangling Maltese. "Tell nice gentleman by-by. Tum now, Hanna, get washed and new ribbon to go by-by. Her go to big Cousin George and piddy Cousin Genevieve. By-by! By-by!" The door swung shut, enclosing them. Down the quiet, tree-shaped sidewalk, Mr. Penfield Evans strode into the somnolent afternoon, turning down Huron Street. At the remote end of the block and before her large frame mansion of a thousand angles and wooden lace work, Mrs. Harvey Herrington's low car sidled to her curb-stone, racy-looking as a hound. That lady herself, large and modish, was in the act of stepping up and in. "Well, Pen Evans! 'Tis writ in the book our paths should cross." "Who more pleased than I?" "Which way are you bound?" "Jenkins' Transfer and Cab Service." "Jump in." "No sooner said than done." Mrs. Herrington threw her clutch and let out a cough of steam. They jerked and leaped forward. From the rear of the car an orange and black pennant--_Votes for Women_--stiffened out like a semaphore against the breeze. CHAPTER IV. BY DOROTHY CANFIELD Genevieve Remington sat in her pretty drawing-room and watched the hour hand of the clock slowly approach five. Five was a sacred hour in her day. At five George left his office, turned off the business-current with a click and turned on, full-voltage, the domestic-affectionate.