Molly, coming in hurriedly from her labors at the French War Relief rooms where she had been engaged in making surgical dressings until her back ached so that she had more sympathy for the poor wounded than ever, if possible, found young Dr. McLean cooling his heels and drying his coat by her library fire.

“Andy! I am so glad to see you!” she cried, grasping both of his hands. “When did you come? Did you know Nance Oldham is with me?”

“Yes, I have seen her,” grimly.

“Oh, then you know of her trouble?”

“Trouble! I shouldn’t call it that. She evidently does not consider it in that light.”

“Andy McLean, how can you say such a thing?”

“Well, I formed my opinions from the evidence of my own eyes. In fact, she told me with her own lips that she was contented; if not in so many words, at least she gave me that impression.”

“Resigned, of course! That is Nance’s way, but she is very sad and lonesome for all that.”

“Lonesome! Ye Gods, how many does she want?”

“Excuse me, Andy, but you are talking like a goose,” declared Molly, irritated in spite of herself.

“Thank you, madam,” he said, bowing low. “Your guest has just called me a fool and now you call me a goose. I bid you good-by.”

“Good-by, indeed! Andy McLean, sit down here and let me send for your father. I believe my soul you are in a fever or something.” Molly pushed him down in a chair near the fire. “Why, Andy, your coat is damp! Where have you been?”

She drew a chair by him and seated herself, looking anxiously into his flushed face. Andy laughed in a hard tone.

“Perhaps you are right, but don’t send for Father. I got my coat wet in a perfectly sane way, but perhaps you had better find out about that from Mrs. Fl—Nance—I mean.”

Andy balked at that name of Mrs. Flint and then, besides, Nance had called him a fool when he had hinted at the doctor’s being the happy man. At this juncture little Mildred came running into the library.

“Mumsy! Mumsy! Is you heard ’bout me an’ the blue boat?”

“No, darling! But what makes your curls so wet?”

“That was that baddest blue boat. It wouldn’t stay still ’til I got in—it jes’ moved and moved—an’ the little wooden street, it moved an’ moved an’ I went kerblim! kersplash!”

“In the lake! Oh, Mildred! I know you didn’t mind Aunt Nance. Are you cold? Did Aunt Nance get wet? Where is Dodo?”

“You ’fuses me with so many ain’t’s an’ do’s and didn’t’s.”

“You tell me all about it,” said the doting mother, trying to compose herself as she gathered the first-born in her arms.

“Well, you see, me’n’ Aunt Nance we went a-walkin’ an’ we tooked Dodo along an’ my dolly, an’ Aunt Nance she says that one use she ain’t got no husband is ’cause don’t no husband want her, an’ I done tol’ her that if Katy kin shrink her up some that Dodo kin be her husband. You see, Mumsy, I been a-feelin’ sorry for Aunt Nance ever since that time I mos’ went to sleep in her lap an’ she talked about a beau lover what got to fightin’ with her an’ she hit him back. She wetted my ear all up with her tears. I jes’ done thunk somethin’!” the child exclaimed, getting out of her mother’s lap and peering curiously into Andy’s face. “Is you the Andy what talked so crule to my Aunt Nance? ’Cause if you is, I’m sorry you done pulled me out’n the lake.”

“Mildred! Mildred!” admonished Molly, but in her heart of hearts she knew that what the enfant terrible was saying to the young doctor was no doubt of a very salutary nature. He needed a good talking to and he was getting it.

“I am the one,” said Andy meekly.

“Well, when Dodo grows up to be big enough he is goin’ to—to—cut you up in little pieces. He’s growin’ up fast an’ bein’ a husband is makin’ him cut his teeth early——”

“Molly Brown!” interrupted Andy McLean eagerly. “Is Nance not married?”

“Married! The idea, Andy! Of course not!”

“Yes, she is! She’s married to Dodo Green. I married ’em this morning,” declared Mildred defiantly.

“Oh, oh! I see it all now!” laughed Molly hysterically. “You were talking about her mythical marriage while I was speaking of her mother’s death.”

“Her mother dead? I had not heard a word of it. Strange that so important a woman as Mrs. Oldham should have died without my seeing it mentioned in the paper.”

“But Mrs. Oldham dropped out of public life two years ago, when her husband died, in fact. Nance had hardly rested from the long siege of nursing her father before she began on her mother.”

Andy bowed his sandy-haired head in his hands and groaned:

“Fool! Fool! Every kind of fool and goose you and Nance choose to call me,—fool and knave! Bad-tempered brute! Jealous idiot! Oh, Molly, please call Nance.”

When Nance had hurled her “fool” at Andy’s sandy head, she flew up-stairs, determined never to speak to him again. She longed for a few quiet moments in her own room, but Mildred must be rubbed down and dressed before she could seek retirement. She was sure he would leave the house immediately. His coat was wet and no doubt his vest and shirt, too, after having carried the dripping child such a distance. Of course he would not want to call on the Greens while she was in the house. The girl bitterly regretted having timed her visit so unfortunately. The Greens and McLeans were very intimate, and would perforce see each other often. She hated to be a wet blanket—a skeleton at the feast. She determined to pack her trunk and go on a promised visit to an old college friend then living in New York. Molly would object, she knew, but it was surely best for all of them that she should take herself off for a few weeks.

Nance was always an orderly person and packing a trunk with her was a very simple matter. She began in her usual systematic way and had already folded her dresses neatly in the trays and was emptying the bureau drawers when Molly’s voice was heard calling her from the lower hall.

“Nance! Oh, Nance!”

She sounded quite excited. No doubt she had just been informed of Mildred’s accident and wanted to hear the details of it.

“Coming!” called Nance, hurrying down the steps. “Oh, Molly, what do you think of me for taking out the children and almost drowning Mildred? And while that was going on, little Dodo came within an ace of tumbling out of the carriage on his precious sleepy head! You will never trust them with me again.”

“Nonsense! Mildred is old enough not to try to get in boats alone, and as for Dodo, Aunt Mary always said: ‘Whin chilluns grows up ’thout ever gittin’ a tumble, they is sho’ to be idjits.’”

“Well, then, my real duty was to let him tumble,” laughed Nance. “What do you want with me, honey? I am very busy.”

“Not too busy to come in and talk with me a little while,” insisted the wily Molly, putting her arm around her friend’s waist and leading her to the library door.

“I do want to talk to you a moment,” agreed Nance. “Molly, I am going away for a few weeks.” They had reached the door, which was ajar, and Andy, ensconced in the sleepy-hollow chair dear to the professor’s bones, could plainly hear the conversation.

“Going away! You are going to do no such thing.”

“I must. There is no use in asking me why—you know why—— It is too hard for me and there is no use in pretending it is not.”

“But, Nance——”

“I have begun to pack and I will go to-morrow.”

Instead of the hospitable protestations characteristic of Molly, that young housewife said not a word, but giving her friend a little push towards the fireplace, she grabbed up Mildred and rushed from the room, closing the door after her.