flashed on. Emma McChesney found herself blinking at a determined
young man who was steadily pointing a short, chubby, businesslike
looking steel affair in her direction. Then the hand that held the
steel dropped.

"What is this, anyway?" demanded Jock rather crossly. "A George
Cohan comedy?"

Emma McChesney leaned against the foot of the bed rather weakly.

"What did you think--"

"What would you think if you heard some one come sneaking along
the hall, stopping, listening, sneaking to your door, and then
opening it, and listening again, and sneaking in? What would you
think it was? How did I know you were going around making social
calls at two o'clock in the morning!"

Suddenly Emma McChesney began to laugh. She leaned over the
footboard and laughed hysterically, her head in her arms. Jock
stared a moment in offended disapproval. Then the humor of it
caught him, and he buried his head in his pillow to stifle
unseemly shrieks. His legs kicked spasmodically beneath the
bedclothes.

As suddenly as she had begun to laugh Mrs. McChesney became very
sober.

"Stop it, Jock! Tell me, why weren't you sleeping?"