Diantha remembered and smiled sadly. She was not much interested in guinea-pigs and their potential capacities, but she was interested in her lover and his happiness. “Ranch,” she said thoughtfully; “that's not a bad idea.” Her mother wrote the same patient loving letters, perfunctorily hopeful. Her father wrote none--“A woman's business--this letter-writin',” he always held; and George, after one scornful upbraiding, had “washed his hands of her” with some sense of relief. He didn't like to write letters either. But Susie kept up a lively correspondence. She was attached to her sister, as to all her immediate relatives and surroundings; and while she utterly disapproved of Diantha's undertaking, a sense of sisterly duty, to say nothing of affection, prompted her to many letters. It did not, however, always make these agreeable reading. “Mother's pretty well, and the girl she's got now does nicely--that first one turned out to be a failure. Father's as cranky as ever. We are all well here and the baby (this was a brand new baby Diantha had not seen) is just a Darling! You ought to be here, you unnatural Aunt! Gerald doesn't ever speak of you--but I do just the same. You hear from the Wardens, of course. Mrs. Warden's got neuralgia or something; keeps them all busy. They are much excited over this new place of yours--you ought to hear them go on! It appears that Madam Weatherstone is a connection of theirs--one of the F. F. V's, I guess, and they think she's something wonderful. And to have _you_ working _there!_--well, you can just see how they'd feel; and I don't blame them. It's no use arguing with you--but I should think you'd have enough of this disgraceful foolishness by this time and come home!” Diantha tried to be very philosophic over her home letters; but they were far from stimulating. “It's no use arguing with poor Susie!” she decided. “Susie thinks the sun rises and sets between kitchen, nursery and parlor! “Mother can't see the good of it yet, but she will later--Mother's all right. “I'm awfully sorry the Wardens feel so--and make Ross unhappy--but of course I knew they would. It can't be helped. It's just a question of time and work.” And she went to work. ***** Mrs. Porne called on her friend most promptly, with a natural eagerness and curiosity. “How does it work? Do you like her as much as you thought? Do tell me about it, Viva. You look like another woman already!” “I certainly feel like one,” Viva answered. “I've seen slaves in housework, and I've seen what we fondly call 'Queens' in housework; but I never saw brains in it before.” Mrs. Porne sighed. “Isn't it just wonderful--the way she does things! Dear me! We do miss her! She trained that Swede for us--and she does pretty well--but not like 'Miss Bell'! I wish there were a hundred of her!”