gasped. "What has happened? Is it bad news?"

"Good, good, good," exulted Eileen. "Wonderful, delicious, thrilling.
Please hurry. It is nearly lunch-time, isn't it? I have been trying to
get you all morning,--come quickly.--Never mind about your luncheon.--Are
you coming?"

"I am on the way," shouted Eveley, crashing the receiver on to its hook,
and flying with scant ceremony from the office, hoping it was truly the
luncheon hour, but scorning to waste the time to look.

"She is in love," she said aloud as she ran down the stairs, spurning a
tardy elevator. "She is in love, and she is engaged, or maybe she has
eloped and is already married. Eileen Trevis,--of all people in the
world. Whoever would have thought it?"

Only the absence of traffic officers in that part of the city kept Eveley
from arrest that day, and only the protection of Heaven itself saved her
from total wreckage, for she spun around corners, and dodged traffic
warts at a rate that was positively neck-breaking. The last block before
she reached Eileen's home was one long coast, and she drew up sharply
with a triumphant honk.

Eileen was on the steps before she had time to turn off the engine.

"Is it a husband?" cried Eveley.

"No, babies," chortled Eileen.

Eveley put her fingers over her lips, and swallowed painfully.

"It isn't your turn," she said disapprovingly. "You have to do these
things in proper order. You can't run backward. It isn't being done."

"Don't be silly," said Eileen. "Hop out, and come in. I am having a
nursery made out of the maid's bedroom that has never been used. It is
perfectly dear, with blue Red-Riding-Hoods, and blue wolves and blue
Jacks-and-Jills on a white background."

"There is something wrong about this," said Eveley solemnly, as she
followed Eileen into the house, and up the two flights of stairs to her
apartment.

"It is Ida's babies, stupid," explained Eileen at last. "I am to have
them after all. Poor Jim's sister is ill, and I must say, it almost
serves her right,--she was so snippy about the children."

"Oh, Ida's babies! And has the Aunt-on-the-Other-Side-of-the-House had a
change of heart?"

"Yes, a regular one. Heart failure, they call it. I tried so hard to get
them when Ida died, but Agnes flatly refused to give them up and since
her brother was their daddy and he was alive, I could not do much. I
asked for them again, you know, when Jim died, and she was ruder than
ever. But since the disp