"Nope," he answered, grinning ashamedly. "Thought maybe you and I'd go
to dinner somewheres, Em."

Emeline was instantly her better self. While she flew into her best
clothes she told George that she knew she was a rotten manager, but she
was so darn sick of this darn flat--She had just been sitting there
wondering if they hadn't better move into the country, say into Oakland.
Her sister May lived there, they might get a house near May, with a
garden for Julia, and a spare room where George could put up a friend.

George was clumsily enthusiastic. Gosh, if she would do that--if she
could stand its being a little quiet--

"I'd get to know the neighbours, and we'd have real good times," said
Emeline optimistically, "and it would be grand for Julie!"

Julia had by this time gone off to sleep in the centre of the large bed.
Her mother removed the child's shoes and some of her clothing, without
rousing her, loosened her garters, and unbuttoned whatever buttons she
could reach.

"She'll be all right," she said confidently. "She never wakes."

George lowered the gas, and they tiptoed out. But Julie did waken half
an hour later, as it happened, and screamed for company for ten hideous
minutes. Then Miss Flossie Miniver, a young woman who had recently
rented the top floor, and of whom Emeline and the other ladies of the
house disapproved, came downstairs and softly entered the Page flat, and
gathered the sobbing little girl to her warm, soft breast. Miss Miniver