Miss Chris shook her head as she refilled the sugar-bowl.  “Why, he’s often late,” she rejoined.  “I never knew you to be nervous before.  What is it?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Eugenia.  She rose and stood looking at the clock, her brow wrinkling.  “If he isn’t here in five minutes I’m going to the station,” she added, and went upstairs for her wraps.

When she returned Miss Chris resorted to argument.  “Don’t be absurd, Eugie,” she urged.  “You can’t go alone.  It’s too late and too far.”

“But I sent for a carriage,” replied Eugenia decisively.  “If anything happens to the baby come after me,” and a moment later she rolled away, leaving Miss Chris transfixed upon the doorstep.

As the carriage passed along the lighted streets she smiled at the recollection of the face Miss Chris had turned upon her.  Well, she was absurd, of course, but one couldn’t go through life being reasonable.  And if anything were to happen to Dudley she would always remember that she had refused to go to walk with him the afternoon before he went away, because the baby was crying for the flames and couldn’t be left with Delphy.  Dudley was provoked about it, but men never understood these matters.  He had even gone so far as to declare that his son would get only his deserts if he were to cry himself hoarse; and she had felt impelled to resent so hard-hearted an utterance.  How could the baby know that the fire was the only thing in the world he couldn’t have for his own?

When she drew up at the station the train was just coming in, and she rushed through the waiting-room to the gate from which the passengers were streaming.  As she reached it Dudley came through, talking animatedly to the man who walked beside him.  “That was the very point, my dear sir—­” he was saying, when he caught sight of Eugenia, and paused abruptly, domestic affairs asserting their supremacy in his mind.  “Why, Eugie!” he gasped.  “What’s happened?”

Eugenia seized his arm impatiently.  “Oh, you were so late, Dudley,” she cried, half angrily.  “You made me miserable—­it wasn’t right of you!”

She hesitated an instant and, looking up, found that his companion was Nicholas Burr.  His eyes were upon her, and he lifted his hat without speaking, but Dudley at once turned to him.

“You are old friends with Mrs. Webb, Governor,” he said lightly, “but you don’t know the ways of a woman who thinks her husband may lose himself between Washington and Richmond.”

Nicholas met the impatient flicker in Eugenia’s eyes and laughed.

“Oh, she hardly fancied you had fallen overboard,” he returned.  “It’s too difficult in these days.  I trust you have had no great anxiety, Mrs. Webb.”

And he passed on, his bag in his hand.

When Dudley and Eugenia were in the carriage she held herself erect and attacked him with asperity.  “You might at least not laugh at me,” she said.