to extend his little daily walk beyond the narrow garden. With an
invalid's impatience, he bemoaned the fact that his wife would not
be there that day to accompany him on his first trip into the world.

His nurse laughed at him.

"Don't you think you're well enough to go and make a little call on
Mrs. Kirby?" she suggested brightly. "She's only two blocks away,
you know. She's right here on Madison Avenue. Keep in the sunlight
and walk slowly, and be sure to come back before it's cold, or I'll
send the police after you."

Thus warned, John started off, delighted at the independence that he
was gaining day after day. He walked the two short blocks with the
care that only convalescents know; a little confused by the gay,
jarring street noises, the wide light and air about him.

He found the address, but somehow the big, gloomy double house
didn't look like Margaret. There was a Mrs. Kirby there, the maid
assured him, however, and John sat down in a hopelessly ugly
drawing-room to wait for her. Instead, there came in a cheerful
little woman who introduced herself as Mrs. Kippam. She was of the
chattering, confidential type so often found in her position.

"Now, you wanted Mrs. Kirby, didn't you?" she said regretfully.
"She's out. I'm the housekeeper here, and I thought if it was just a
question of rooms, maybe I'd do as well?"

"There's some mistake," said John; and he was still weak enough to
feel himself choke at the disappointment. "I want Mrs. John Kirby--a