As the winter wore on the tendency to tete-a-tete between Mrs. Pendleton and Mr. Barlow became more marked. They lingered nightly in the chilly parlor in the glamour of the red lamp after the other guests had left. It was discovered that they had twice gone to the theater together. The art student had met them coming in late. As a topic of conversation among the boarders the affair was more popular than food complaints. A subtile atmosphere of understanding enveloped the two. It became so marked at last that even Mrs. Hilary perceived it--although Elsie always insisted that Gladys had told her. One afternoon in the spring, as Mrs. Pendleton was standing on the door-step preparing to fit the latch-key into the lock, the door opened and a man came out uproariously, followed by Gladys and Gwendolen, who, in some inexplicable way, always had the effect of a crowd of children. The man was tall and not ill-looking. Mrs. Pendleton was attired in trailing black velveteen, a white feather boa, and a hat covered with tossing plumes, and the hair underneath was aggressively golden. A potential smile hovered about her lips and her glance lingered in passing. Inside the house she bent a winning smile upon Gwendolen, who was the less sophisticated of the two children. "Who's your caller, honey?" "That's the pater," replied Gwendolen with her mouth full of candy. "He brought us some sweets. You may have one if you wish." "Your--your father," translated Mrs. Pendleton with a gasp. She was obliged to lean against the wall for support. The twins nodded, their jaws locked with caramel. "He doesn't come very often," Gladys managed to get out indistinctly. "I wish he would." "I suppose his business keeps him away," suggested Mrs. Pendleton. Gladys glanced up from a consideration of the respective attractions of a chocolate cream and caramel. "He says it is incompatibility of humor," she repeated glibly. Gladys was more than half American. "Of _humor_!" Mrs. Pendleton's face broke up into ripples of delight. She flew at once to Mrs. Howard's private sitting room, arriving all out of breath and exploded her bomb immediately. "My dear, did you know that Mrs. Hilary is _not_ a widow?" "Not a widow!" repeated Mrs. Howard with dazed eyes. "I met her husband right now at the door. He was telling the children good-by. He isn't any more dead than I am." "Not dead!" repeated Mrs. Howard, collapsing upon the nearest chair with all the prostration a news bearer's heart could desire. "And she was always talking about what he _used_ to do and _used_ to think and _used_ to say. Why--why I can't believe it." "True as preachin'," declared Mrs. Pendleton, adding that you could have knocked her down with a feather when she discovered it. Elsie Howard came into her mother's room just then and Mrs. Pendleton repeated the exciting news, adding, "Gladys says they don't live together because of incompatibility of humor!"