Ted had come down from the University for the week-end.  Though he no longer spoke of mechanical engineering and though he was reticent about his opinion of his instructors, he seemed no more reconciled to college, and his chief interest was his wireless telephone set.

On Saturday evening he took Eunice Littlefield to a dance at Devon Woods.  Babbitt had a glimpse of her, bouncing in the seat of the car, brilliant in a scarlet cloak over a frock of thinnest creamy silk.  They two had not returned when the Babbitts went to bed, at half-past eleven.  At a blurred indefinite time of late night Babbitt was awakened by the ring of the telephone and gloomily crawled down-stairs.  Howard Littlefield was speaking: 

“George, Euny isn’t back yet.  Is Ted?”

“No—­at least his door is open—­”

“They ought to be home.  Eunice said the dance would be over at midnight.  What’s the name of those people where they’re going?”

“Why, gosh, tell the truth, I don’t know, Howard.  It’s some classmate of Ted’s, out in Devon Woods.  Don’t see what we can do.  Wait, I’ll skip up and ask Myra if she knows their name.”

Babbitt turned on the light in Ted’s room.  It was a brown boyish room; disordered dresser, worn books, a high-school pennant, photographs of basket-ball teams and baseball teams.  Ted was decidedly not there.

Mrs. Babbitt, awakened, irritably observed that she certainly did not know the name of Ted’s host, that it was late, that Howard Littlefield was but little better than a born fool, and that she was sleepy.  But she remained awake and worrying while Babbitt, on the sleeping-porch, struggled back into sleep through the incessant soft rain of her remarks.  It was after dawn when he was aroused by her shaking him and calling “George!  George!” in something like horror.

“Wha—­wha—­what is it?”

“Come here quick and see.  Be quiet!”

She led him down the hall to the door of Ted’s room and pushed it gently open.  On the worn brown rug he saw a froth of rose-colored chiffon lingerie; on the sedate Morris chair a girl’s silver slipper.  And on the pillows were two sleepy heads—­Ted’s and Eunice’s.

Ted woke to grin, and to mutter with unconvincing defiance, “Good morning!  Let me introduce my wife—­Mrs. Theodore Roosevelt Eunice Littlefield Babbitt, Esquiress.”

“Good God!” from Babbitt, and from his wife a long wailing, “You’ve gone and—­”

“We got married last evening.  Wife!  Sit up and say a pretty good morning to mother-in-law.”

But Eunice hid her shoulders and her charming wild hair under the pillow.

By nine o’clock the assembly which was gathered about Ted and Eunice in the living-room included Mr. and Mrs. George Babbitt, Dr. and Mrs. Howard Littlefield, Mr. and Mrs. Kenneth Escott, Mr. and Mrs. Henry T. Thompson, and Tinka Babbitt, who was the only pleased member of the inquisition.