Barbara hesitated. In that moment’s hesitation there was involved more than the ordering of a dinner. Theory had its last battle with Practicality, and came out with drooping colors. But Dr. Grafton would have been relieved in regard to the stability of Barbara’s sense of humor, if he could have heard the laugh with which she admitted her own defeat. “I will order some steak,” she said. “It’s too good to be true,” she said joyfully to Gassy, as they left the kitchen. “I declare, I scarcely know where I am, I am so glad. Isn’t it beautiful when things unexpectedly work out right?” “Glad the Vegetable Man’s daughter’s husband drank?” inquired Gassy. Barbara laughed again, and did not answer. The morning flew by as if Father Time had suddenly borrowed the wings of Mercury. Barbara dusted and straightened the rooms, putting everything in immaculate order. Many little duties, which had been disregarded during David’s illness, suddenly came to her recollection, and the girl essayed to finish them all. She resolved that her reign should end in a blaze of glory, and that her mother should see that the Interregnum had not been entirely discreditable to the House of Grafton. Gassy, a willing assistant, performed unwonted miracles in the way of dusting, at the same time keeping up an unending flow of conversation. They were putting the finishing touches to the living-room, where David still sat, waited upon cheerfully by the Kid, when the doorbell rang vigorously. The door opened without ceremony and a strident voice in the hall called, “Barbara Grafton!” “It’s Miss Bates!” exclaimed Barbara, in a low tone. “Run and take her into the library, Gassy.” But it was too late. “Oh, here you are!” said Miss Bates, appearing in the doorway. “I came right in because I thought you were probably not dressed to answer the bell. Barbara, I brought in some more plums because I know David ought to eat ’em to build him up.” “I am so sorry,” said Barbara. “But father says they are still too much for him.” “Your father don’t know, Barbara; no, he don’t. Men never know about such things. Now there ain’t much sugar in ’em—” “Never mind!” interposed the Kid, courageously. “Never mind, Miss Bates, I’ll eat ’em. Jack says”— “Hey?” ejaculated the spinster. “Charles,” warned Barbara, “you—” “Jack says to let you give ’em and we’ll eat ’em,” continued the Kid, determined to finish his sentence. Miss Bates glared at him. “Barbara,” she said, “I don’t know why it is, but I get insulted by these children every time I put my nose into this house. Now I don’t want to complain, but I’ve a mind to tell you what Charles did to me last night. I was laying the table for supper, and I’d left the window open for air, and all of a sudden that child’s head was in the window, and he says, ‘Mercy on us, Birdine, is that all you’ve got for supper?’” The Kid disappeared under the sofa like a whipped dog. Barbara closed her lips tight, to keep from smiling.