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lifted from the sky of a young husband's life, how less murderous the ways of mother nature

appeared! It became possible to chat with a piano-teacher about the technique he employed; to

tell one's own experiences with the Leschetizsky method, and later with the Breithaupt; to

explain the forearm rotary motion, and illustrate it on the arm of one's chair. Lanny found

himself tapping out the opening theme of Liszt's symphonic poem, From the Cradle to the

Grave. But he stopped with the first part.

XII

The cheerful nurse came again, and escorted the successful father down a passage to a large

expanse of plate-glass looking into a room with tiny white metal cribs. Visitors were not

permitted inside, but a nurse with a white mask over her mouth and nose brought to the other

side of the glass a bundle in a blanket and laid back the folds, exposing to Lanny's gaze a brick-

red object which might have been a great bloated crinkled caterpillar, only it had appenda ges,

and a large round ball at the top with a face which would have been human if it hadn't been

elfish. There was a mouth with lips busily sucking on nothing, and a pair of large eyes which

didn't move; however, the nurse at Lanny's side assured him that they had been tested with

a light, and they worked. He was assured that this was his baby; to prove it there was a tiny

necklace with a metal tag; monsieur and madame might rest assured that they would not carry

home the baby of an avocat, nor yet that of a teacher of piano technique.

The bloated red caterpillar was folded up in the blanket again, and Lanny was escorted to

Irma's room. She lay in a white hospital bed, her head sunk back in a pillow, her eyes closed.

How pale she looked, how different from the rich brunette beauty he had left that morning!

Now her dark hair was disordered—apparently they hadn't wished to disturb her even that

much. Lanny tiptoed into the room, and she opened her eyes slowly, as if with an effort;

when she recognized him she gave him a feeble smile.

"How are you, Irma?"

"I'll be all right," she whispered. "Tired, awfully tired."

The nurse had told him not to talk to her. He said: "It's a lovely baby."

"I'm glad. Don't worry. I'll rest, and get better."

Lanny felt a choking in his throat; it was pitiful, the price that women had to pay! But he

knew he musn't trouble her with his superfluous emotions. A nurse came with a little wine,

which she took through a tube. There was a sedative in it, and she would sleep. He took her

hand, which lay limp upon the coverlet, and kissed it gently. "Thank you, dear. I love you."

That was enough.

Outside in the passage was the surgeon, all cleaned up and ready for the outside world. His

professional manner was second nature. Everything was as it should be; never a better patient,

a more perfect delivery. A few hours' sleep, a little nourishment, and Mr. Budd would be

surprised by the change in his wife. A lovely sturdy infant, well over nine pounds—that had

caused the delay. "Sorry you had such a long wait; no help for that. Do you read the Bible, Mr.

Budd? 'A woman when she is in travail hath sorrow, because her hour is come: but as soon as

she is delivered of the child, she re-membereth no more the anguish, for joy that a man is born

into the world.' In this case it's a woman, but we're no longer in ancient Judea, and the women

are bossing the show. In my country and yours they have the vote, and they own more than

half the property, I'm told; it's their world, and what they are going to do with it we men

have to wait and find out. Good night, Mr. Budd."

"Good night," said Lanny. He owed the man thirty thousand francs, which sounded like a

thumping price, but the franc was low. Lanny didn't begrudge it. He thought: "I'd have offered

a hundred thousand an hour ago!"

2

Those Friends Thou Hast

I

THE house on the Bienvenu estate in which Irma and Lanny were living was called the Cottage,

but was nearly as large as the villa and uniform in style, built around a central patio, or

court; the walls were of pink stucco with window shutters of pale blue, and a red-tiled roof

over its single story. It looked out over the ever-changing Golfe Juan, and beyond to the

mountains behind which the sun went down. The house was only three years old, but already

the banana plants in the patio were up to the eaves, and the bougainvillaea vines were crawling

over the tiles. Early April was the loveliest time of the year, and the patio was a little paradise,

with blossoms of every hue exulting in the floods of sunshine. The young mother might lie on a

chaise-longue in sun or shade, and read in a New York paper about March weather, with icy

gales wrecking the seashore cottages and piling small boats up on beaches.

In the most exquisite of silk-lined bassinets lay the most precious of female infants, with a

veil to protect her from over-curious insects. Near by sat a trained nurse, a mature and

conscientious Church of England woman. She had two nursemaids under her orders, which

were based on the latest discoveries in the physiology and psychology of infants. There was to

be no coddling, no kissing, no rocking to sleep of this mite of royalty; there was to be no

guesswork and no blundering in its care; no hostile germs were to steal past the barricades

which surrounded it, and anyone who showed the least trace of a cold was banished from the

premises. Guests and even relatives had to obey the orders of the all-knowing Miss Severne;

she was armed with authority to defy even grand- mothers. As for Irma, she had agreed to make

the supreme sacrifice; every four hours the precious bundle was to be brought for her nursing,

and she was to be on hand, no matter what temptations the world of fashion might put in her

way. Back to Rousseau!

There had been family councils and international negotiations concerning a name for this

multimillionaire heiress. Many claims had been entered, and if they had all been granted, the

little one would have been loaded down after the fashion of European royalty. Manifestly, it

wouldn't do to give her the name Beauty; that was something that had to be earned—and

suppose she failed to meet the test? Beauty's real name, Mabel, she didn't like—so that was out.

Irma's own claims she renounced in favor of her mother, to whom it would mean so much.

Irma was going to live most of her life in Europe, because that was what Lanny wanted; so

should they not give a pining dowager in a Long Island palace whatever solace she could derive

from having her name carried on? The Barnes clan also was entitled to consideration, having

furnished the money. "Frances Barnes Budd" was a name not hard to say; but never, never

was it to be "Fanny"! The Queen Mother of Shore Acres was helpless to understand how her

once lovely name was being put to such base uses in these modern days.

II

Irma was reclining in the patio, enjoying the delight of holding the naked mite in her arms

while it absorbed the sunshine of the Midi for a measured three minutes. Lanny came in, saying:

"Uncle Jesse is over at the villa. Do you want to meet him?"

"Do you think I should?"

"You surely don't have to if you don't feel like it."

"Won't his feelings be hurt?"

"He's used to that." Lanny said it with a grin.

Irma had heard no little talk about this "Red sheep" of her mother-in-law's family. At first

her curiosity hadn't been aroused, for she didn't take political questions to heart, and while