“Ho!” said Dwight.  “The happy family, once more about the festive toaster.”  He gauged the moment to call for good cheer.  Ina, too, became breezy, blithe.  Monona caught their spirit and laughed, head thrown well back and gently shaken.

Di came in.  She had been told that Auntie Lulu was at home, and that she, Di, wasn’t to say anything to her about anything, nor anything to anybody else about Auntie Lulu being back.  Under these prohibitions, which loosed a thousand speculations, Di was very nearly paralysed.  She stared at her Aunt Lulu incessantly.

Not one of them had even a talent for the casual, save Lulu herself.  Lulu was amazingly herself.  She took her old place, assumed her old offices.  When Monona declared against bacon, it was Lulu who suggested milk toast and went to make it.

“Mamma,” Di whispered then, like escaping steam, “isn’t Uncle Ninian coming too?”

“Hush.  No.  Now don’t ask any more questions.”

“Well, can’t I tell Bobby and Jenny she’s here?”

“No.  Don’t say anything at all about her.”

“But, mamma.  What has she done?”

“Di!  Do as mamma tells you.  Don’t you think mamma knows best?”

Di of course did not think so, had not thought so for a long time.  But now Dwight said: 

“Daughter!  Are you a little girl or are you our grown-up young lady?”

“I don’t know,” said Di reasonably, “but I think you’re treating me like a little girl now.”

“Shame, Di,” said Ina, unabashed by the accident of reason being on the side of Di.

“I’m eighteen,” Di reminded them forlornly, “and through high school.”

“Then act so,” boomed her father.

Baffled, thwarted, bewildered, Di went over to Jenny Plow’s and there imparted understanding by the simple process of letting Jenny guess, to questions skilfully shaped.

When Dwight said, “Look at my beautiful handkerchief,” displayed a hole, sent his Ina for a better, Lulu, with a manner of haste, addressed him: 

“Dwight.  It’s a funny thing, but I haven’t Ninian’s Oregon address.”

“Well?”

“Well, I wish you’d give it to me.”

Dwight tightened and lifted his lips.  “It would seem,” he said, “that you have no real use for that particular address, Lulu.”

“Yes, I have.  I want it.  You have it, haven’t you, Dwight?”

“Certainly I have it.”

“Won’t you please write it down for me?” She had ready a bit of paper and a pencil stump.

“My dear Lulu, now why revive anything?  Why not he sensible and leave this alone?  No good can come by—­”

“But why shouldn’t I have his address?”

“If everything is over between you, why should you?”

“But you say he’s still my husband.”

Dwight flushed.  “If my brother has shown his inclination as plainly as I judge that he has, it is certainly not my place to put you in touch with him again.”