s decorated up with
sugar flowers until it looked like a bride's bouquet.

He insists on callin' my bluff, though; so up the avenue we goes, when I
should have been hotfootin' it back to the studio. But I could see that
Pinckney was some anxious about how the kids was gettin' on, Gertie being
away for the day, and I thinks maybe I'll be useful in calmin' any riot
he might find in progress.

All was quiet and peaceful, though, as Pinckney opens the door with his
latchkey. No howls from upstairs, no front windows broken, and nobody
slidin' down the banisters. We was just waitin' for the automatic
elevator to come down when we hears voices floatin' out from the lib'ry.
Pinckney steps to the doorway where he can see through into the next
room, and then beckons me up for a squint.

It wa'n't the kids at all, but a couple of grownups that was both
strangers to me. From the way the young woman is dressed I could guess
she was the new governess. Anyway, she's makin' herself right to home, so
far as entertainin' comp'ny goes; for she and the gent with her is more
or less close together and mixed up. First off it looked like a side-hold
lover's clinch, and then again it didn't.

"Is it a huggin' match, or a rough-house tackle?" I whispered over
Pinckney's shoulder.

"I pass the declaration," says he. "Suppose we investigate."

With that we strolls in, and we're within a dozen feet of the couple
before they get wise to the fact that there's an int'rested audience. I
must say, though, that they made a clean, quick breakaway. Then they
stands, starin' at us.

"Ah, Miss Marston!" says Pinckney. "Do I interrupt?"

"Why--er--er--you see, sir," she begins, "I--that is--we----"

And she breaks down with as bad a case of rattles as I ever see. She's a
nice lookin', modest appearin' young woman, too, a little soft about the
mouth, but more or less classy in her lines. Her hair is some mussed, and
there's sort of a wild, desp'rate look in her eyes.

"A near relative, I presume?" suggests Pinckney, noddin' at the gent,
who's takin' it all cool enough.

"Oh, yes, sir," gasps out the governess. "My husband, sir."

And the gent, he bows as easy and natural as if he was bein' introduced
at an afternoon tea party. "Glad to know you," says he, stickin' out his
hand, which Pinckney, bein' absent-minded just then, fails to see.

"Really!" says Pinckney, lookin' the governess up and down. "Then it's
not Miss Marston, but Mrs.--er----"