Betty Mercer captured him then and took him off to see Jim’s newest picture. Anne pounced on me at once. “Isn’t he delicious?” she demanded. “Did you ever see such shoulders? And such a nose? And he thinks we are parasites, cumberers of the earth, Heaven knows what. He says every woman ought to know how to earn her living, in case of necessity! I said I could make enough at bridge, and he thought I was joking! He’s a dear!” Anne was enthusiastic. I looked after him. Oddly enough the feeling that we had met before stuck to me. Which was ridiculous, of course, for we learned afterward that the nearest we ever came to meeting was that our mothers had been school friends! Just then I saw Jim beckoning to me crazily from the den. He looked quite yellow, and he had been running his fingers through his hair. “For Heaven’s sake, come in, Kit!” he said. “I need a cool head. Didn’t I tell you this is my calamity day?” “Cook gone?” I asked with interest. I was starving. He closed the door and took up a tragic attitude in front of the fire. “Did you ever hear of Aunt Selina?” he demanded. “I knew there WAS one,” I ventured, mindful of certain gossip as to whence Jimmy derived the Wilson income. Jim himself was too worried to be cautious. He waved a brazen hand at the snug room, at the Japanese prints on the walls, at the rugs, at the teakwood cabinets and the screen inlaid with pearl and ivory. “All this,” he said comprehensively, “every bite I eat, clothes I wear, drinks I drink--you needn’t look like that; I don’t drink so darned much--everything comes from Aunt Selina--buttons,” he finished with a groan. “Selina Buttons,” I said reflectively. “I don’t remember ever having known any one named Buttons, although I had a cat once--” “Damn the cat!” he said rudely. “Her name isn’t Buttons. Her name is Caruthers, my Aunt Selina Caruthers, and the money comes from buttons.” “Oh!” feebly. “It’s an old business,” he went on, with something of proprietary pride. “My grandfather founded it in 1775. Made buttons for the Continental Army.” “Oh, yes,” I said. “They melted the buttons to make bullets, didn’t they? Or they melted bullets to make buttons? Which was it?” But again he interrupted. “It’s like this,” he went on hurriedly. “Aunt Selina believes in me. She likes pictures, and she wanted me to paint, if I could. I’d have given up long ago--oh, I know what you think of my work--but for Aunt Selina. She has encouraged me, and she’s done more than that; she’s paid the bills.” “Dear Aunt Selina,” I breathed. “When I got married,” Jim persisted, “Aunt Selina doubled my allowance. I always expected to sell something, and begin to make money, and in the meantime what she advanced I considered as a loan.” He was eyeing me defiantly, but I was growing serious. It was evident from the preamble that something was coming. “To understand, Kit,” he went on dubiously, “you would have to know her. She won’t stand for divorce. She thinks it is a crime.”