es," said Eileen furiously, "I have 'pretty well' had it, in a few
little dresses that I have altered myself and very frequently made
entirely. I have done the best I could, shifting and skimping, and it's
not accomplished anything that I have really wanted. According to men,
the gas and the telephone and the electric light and the taxes and
food and cook pay for themselves. All a woman ever spends money on is
clothes!"

"Eileen," chuckled John Gilman, "this sounds exactly as if we were
married, and we're not, yet."

"No," said Eileen, "thank heaven we're not. If it's come to the place
where you're siding with everybody else against me, and where you're
more interested in what my kid sister has to say to you than you are in
me, I don't think we ever shall be."

Then, from stress of nerve tension and long practice, some big tears
gushed up and threatened to overflow Eileen's lovely eyes. That never
should happen, for tears are salt water and they cut little rivers
through even the most carefully and skillfully constructed complexion,
while Eileen's was looking its worst that evening. She hastily applied
her handkerchief, and John Gilman took her into his arms; so the
remainder of the evening it was as if they were not married. But when
John returned to the subject of a home and begged Eileen to announce
their engagement and let him begin work, she evaded him, and put him
off, and had to have time to think, and she was not ready, and there
were many excuses, for none of which Gilman could see any sufficient
reason. When he left Eileen that night, it was with a heavy heart.

CHAPTER XIV. Saturday's Child

Throughout the week Linda had worked as never during her life
previously, in order to save Saturday for Donald Whiting. She ran the
Bear Cat down to the garage and had it looked over once more to be sure
that everything was all right. Friday evening, on her way from school,
she stopped at a grocery where she knew Eileen kept an account, and for
the first time ordered a few groceries. These she carried home with her,
and explained to Katy what she wanted.

Katy fully realized that Linda was still her child, with no thought in
her mind save standing at the head of her classes, carrying on the work
she had begun with her father, keeping up her nature study, and getting
the best time she could out of life in the open as she had been taught
to do from her cradle.

Katy had not the slightest intention of opening her