“The kitchen does look earthquakey,” admitted Mrs. Carew with a laugh, “but the girls would be glad to have the extra table; so go right ahead.  I’ll take you out in a second.  I have been on the go,” she added wearily, “since seven this morning:  my feet are like balls of fire.  You don’t know what the details are.  Why, just tying up the prizes takes a good hour!”

“Anything go wrong?” asked the man sympathetically.

“Oh, no; nothing particular.  But you know how a house has to look!  Even the bathrooms, and our room, and the spare room—­the children do get things so mussed.  It all sounds so simple; but it takes such a time.”

“Well, Annie—­doesn’t she do these things?”

“Oh, ordinarily she does!  But she was sweeping all morning, we moved things about so last night, and there was china, and glasses to get down, and the porches—­”

“But, Jeanette,” said Barry Valentine patiently, “don’t you keep this house clean enough ordinarily without these orgies of cleaning the minute anybody comes in?  I never knew such a house for women to open windows, and tie up curtains, and put towels over their hair, and run around with buckets of cold suds.  Why this extra fuss?”

“Well, it’s not all cleaning,” said Mrs. Carew, a little annoyed.  “It’s largely supper; and I’m not giving anything like the suppers Mrs. White and Mrs. Adams give.”

“Why don’t they eat at home?” said Mr. Valentine hospitably.  “What do they come for anyway?  To see the house or each other’s clothes, or to eat?  Women are funny at a card party,” he went on, always ready to expand an argument comfortably.  “It takes them an hour to settle down and see how everyone else looks, and whether there happens to be a streak of dust under the piano; and then when the game is just well started, a maid is nudging you in the elbow to take a plate of hot chicken, and another, on the other side, is holding out sandwiches, and all the women are running to look at the prizes.  Now when men play cards—­

“Oh, Barry, don’t get started!” his cousin impatiently implored.  “I’m too tired to listen.  Come out and fix the table.”

“Wish I could really help you,” said Barry, as they crossed the hall; and as a further attempt to soothe her ruffled feelings, he added amiably, “The place looks fine.  The buttercups came up, didn’t they?”

“Beautifully!  You were a dear to get them,” said Mrs. Carew, quite mollified.

Welcomed openly by all four maids, Barry was soon contentedly busy with screws and molding-board, in a corner of the sunny kitchen.  He and Mrs. Binney immediately entered upon a spirited discussion of equal suffrage, to the intense amusement of the others, who kept him supplied with sandwiches, cake and various other dainties.  The little piece of work was presently finished to the entire satisfaction of everyone, and Barry had pocketed his tools, and was ready to go, when Mrs. Carew returned to the kitchen wide-eyed with news.