Hours later, one by one the lights in the houses along the avenue
twinkled out and the street lay in the grasp of the after midnight
silence. Only a bright light still burned at the major's table, which was
piled high with books into which he was delving with the hunger of many
long hours of deprivation strong upon him. He had scouted the idea of the
ball, had donned dressing-gown and slippers and gone back to the company
of his Immortals with alacrity. On their return Mrs. Buchanan and the
girls had found him buried in his tomes ten deep and it was with
difficulty that Phoebe, kneeling beside him on one side, and Caroline on
the other, made him listen to their joint tale of modern romance, to
which Mrs. Matilda played the part of a joyous commentator.

To Phoebe he was merciless and a war of wits made the library echo with
its give and take.

"Of course, my dear Phoebe," he said, "it is an established fact that a
man and his wife are one, and if you will just let that one be Judge
Kildare semi-occasionally it will more than content him, I'm sure."

"Why, Major, can't you trust me to be a good--wife to David? Don't be
unkind to me! I'll promise to--to--"

"Don't, Phoebe, don't! That 'love, honor and obey' clause is the direct
cause of all the woman legislation ever undertaken--and it holds a
remarkably short time after marriage as a general thing. Now there's
Matilda--for over thirty-five years I've--But where is Andrew?" he
demanded anxiously.

"Andy," answered David with the greatest delight in his happy eyes and