The face of her father clouded.

“Look here,” he said uneasily, “I wouldn’t go talking to her—­quite along those lines, my dear.”

“I’m not such an idiot,” she replied.  “She thinks me homely enough as it is.  And she’s not altogether wrong.  Bruce and I were talking it over last night.  We want to be closer, after this, to Deborah and Allan.  Bruce says it will do us all good, and for once I think he’s right.  I have given too much time to my children, and Bruce to his office—­I see it now.  Not that I regret it, but—­well, we’re going to blossom out.”

* * * * *

She struck the same note with Deborah.  And so did Bruce.

“Oh, Deborah dear,” he said smiling, when he found a chance to see her alone, “if you knew how long I’ve waited for this big fine thing to happen.  A. Baird is my best chum in the world.  Don’t yank him gently away from us now.  We’ll keep close—­eh?—­all four of us.”

“Very,” said Deborah softly.

“And you mustn’t get too solemn, you know.  You won’t pull too much of the highbrow stuff.”

“Heaven forbid!”

“That’s the right idea.  We’ll have some fine little parties together.  You and A. Baird will give us a hand and get us out in the evenings.  We need it, God knows, we’ve been getting old.”  Deborah threw him a glance of affection.

“Why, Brucie,” she said, in admiring tones, “I knew you had it in you.”

“So has Edith,” he sturdily declared.  “She only needs a little shove.  We’ll show you two that we’re regular fellows.  Don’t you be all school and we won’t be all home.  We’ll jump out of our skins and be young again.”

* * * * *

In pursuance of this gay resolve, Bruce planned frequent parties to theaters and musical shows, and to Edith’s consternation he even began to look about for a teacher from whom he could learn to dance.  “A.  Baird,” he told her firmly, “isn’t going to be the only soubrette in this family.”

One of the most hilarious of these small celebrations came early in June, when they dined all four together and went to the summer’s opening of “The Follies of 1914.”  The show rather dragged a bit at first, but when Bert Williams took the stage Bruce’s laugh became so contagious that people in seats on every hand turned to look at him and join in his glee.  Only one thing happened to mar the evening’s pleasure.  When they came outside the theater Bruce found in his car something wrong with the engine.  He tinkered but it would not go.  Allan hailed a taxi.

“Why not come with us?” asked Deborah.

“No, thanks,” said Bruce.  “I’ve got this car to look after.”

“Oh, let it wait,” urged Allan.

“It does look a little like rain,” put in Edith.  Bruce glanced up at the cloudy sky and hesitated a moment.

“Rain, piffle,” he said good-humoredly.  “Come on, wifey, stick by me.  I won’t be long.”  And he and Edith went back to his car.