d, catching sight of her. "Afraid I'd be too late. Come
take a ride."

That was exactly what she wanted to do. "I can't," she said. "I have
to wait till they get through back there," indicating with a jerk of
the head those uncertain regions which had become suddenly quiet.

"Oh, let them take care of themselves. What is help for if you have to
watch it every minute? Come on. It's too hot to work any longer,
anyway."

She yielded. First she spent a moment or two before a mirror, tidying
herself up, feeling as she did so a little thrill of anticipation. And
then she stuck her head through the kitchen door and announced that
she was leaving. "Don't burn the whole place up, Maida," she cautioned
with a laugh as she caught sight of her sitting, humped forward in a
kitchen chair, fat elbows resting on a table, placidly viewing a vast
clutter of dishes that had not yet been put away.

Mary Louise escaped and clambered into the waiting car, into the
vacant seat beside the driver.

They whirled away, turned a corner sharply, and soon were leaving the
narrow, restricted streets of the down-town district which had been
pulsing and glowering with heat all day. She caught a look at
Claybrook in the seat beside her. He was as fresh and cool as though
he had not been exposed to the weather at all. Instinctively she
reached a restraining hand to her hair. It was blowing in wild
disarray. A sudden stretch of stately old houses sitting well back on
either side of the street, partly hidden by double rows of trees,
caused her fresh doubts as to the fitness of her attire. In her
shirtwaist and skirt she felt like an intruder.

A man from the sidewalk bowed to them. So busy was she with her hat
that she could not see who it was.

"There goes Wilkes," said Claybrook. "You remember Wilkes out at Camp?
Had charge of the Post Exchange."

She hoped she had escaped recognition. As if for protection she
slipped farther down in the seat and was less troubled by the wind.
The neighbourhood through which they were passing was becoming even
more fashionable, and aristocratic nurse-maids with their aristocratic
charges, alike in white, starchy, frilly things, were dotting the
sidewalks on either side of the street, supplying a live motif to a
prospect that might otherwise seem too orderly and remote. The lawns
were beautiful, close cropped and freshly green, and frequent
fountains sent a delightful mist across the pavement even to the
street