he ain't, Mr. Henshaw! She ain't here. I saw her go away just a little
while ago."

Bertram turned sharply.

"You saw her go away! What do you mean?"

Small Bessie swelled with importance. Bessie was thirteen, in spite of
her diminutive height. Bessie's mother was dead, and Bessie's caretakers
were gossiping nurses and servants, who frequently left in her way books
that were much too old for Bessie to read--but she read them.

"I mean she ain't here--your wife, Mr. Henshaw. She went away. I saw
her. I guess likely she's eloped, sir."

"Eloped!"

Bessie swelled still more importantly. To her experienced eyes the
situation contained all the necessary elements for the customary flight
of the heroine in her story-books, as here, now, was the irate, deserted
husband.

"Sure! And 'twas just before you came--quite a while before. A big shiny
black automobile like this drove up--only it wasn't quite such a nice
one--an' Mrs. Henshaw an' a man came out of your house an' got in, an'
drove right away _quick!_ They just ran to get into it, too--didn't
they?" She appealed to her young mates grouped about her.

A chorus of shrill exclamations brought Mr. Bertram Henshaw suddenly
to his senses. By a desperate effort he hid his angry annoyance as
he turned to the manifestly embarrassed young woman who was already
descending the steps.

"My dear Miss Winthrop," he apologized contritely, "I'm sure
you'll forgive this seeming great rudeness on the part of my wife.
Notwithstanding the lurid tales of our young friends here, I suspect
nothing more serious has happened than that my wife has been hastily
summoned to Aunt Hannah, perhaps. Or, of course, she may not have
understood that you were coming to-day at half-past three--though I
thought she did. But I'm so sorry--when you were so kind as to come--"
Miss Winthrop interrupted with a quick gesture.

"Say no more, I beg of you," she entreated. "Mrs. Henshaw is quite
excusable, I'm sure. Please don't give it another thought," she
finished, as with a hurried direction to the man who was holding open
the door of her car, she stepped inside and bowed her good-byes.

Bertram, with stern self-control, forced himself to walk nonchalantly
up his steps, leisurely take out his key, and open his door, under the
interested eyes of Bessie Bailey and her friends; but once beyond their
hateful stare, his demeanor underwent a complete change. Throwing aside
his hat and coat, he strode to the