* * * * *

They did. In a taxicab. He held her in his lap and told her the news.

He had had his own rooms done over. Mediaeval setting. Romanesque arches.
Stained-glass windows. Sculptured cloisters. Good work.

"How are the twins?" she asked, timidly. "Pleathe."

"Fine. Miss you terribly--we all do. Butterfly Center mourns your loss.
Spring a come-back, won't you, Warble?"

"You want me?"

"More than anything in the world! I'm mad about you! You beauty! You raving
beauty! You'll be the talk of the world this winter. Gee, Warble, how I can
dress you, now you're thin! Won't Beer be astounded!"

* * * * *

That's the way things came to Warble.

The only thing she wanted, her husband's love, now flung at her feet in
unstinted measure, pressed down and running over--love, slathers of it--all
for her! It was sweet--a pleasant change from pickles.

"How's everybody?"

"Here and there. Iva's gone."