My father, mother, and sifter met the steamer train at Euston. We tumbled out of our compartment a little breathless over the prospect of another ordeal. We seemed hopelessly mixed up with luggage and steamer acquaintances saying good-byes, when I saw my father pushing through the crowd toward us. He hardly looked at me; it was Helen he wanted to see. My mother and sister were close behind. It gave me quite a shock to note that my sister had her hair up and was wearing long dresses. She looked almost as old as Helen, as indeed she was. The family kissed Helen thoroughly, and my sister clung tenaciously to me. I couldn't think of much to say, except "Well, here we are."

"What a frightful Yankee twang you have, Ted," exclaimed my sister. We made our way toward one of the London and North Western's private omnibuses.

"Ted! Please don't forget our trunks," Helen cautioned, as I was about to climb in. My father went with me to the luggage van, a porter following. We left Helen chattering away at mother and sister as if there were no such thing in the world as embarrassment.

"I like the look of her, Ted," my father said.

"I'm not surprised," I answered, trying to imitate one of Knowlton's grins. We fished out the trunks and started back.

"Pleasant passage?" my father inquired. "Helen wasn't seasick, I hope."

"A bit off her feed one day—remarkably smooth voyage."

"Ah—it's certain to be a good crossing in August."

"Quite," I replied.

We got into the omnibus, after Helen had completed taking the census of the luggage.

"Don't trust Ted with anything like that," my mother remarked. "He's left my boxes all over the Continent."

I sat beside Helen, for I wanted to watch her face when she first saw the streets of London.

"Ted, look!" she cried, as we emerged from the classic gateway of Euston Station, "there's a huge horse with fluffy feet."

"It's a Clydesdale—aren't they beauties?"

"I never saw such a splendid horse."

My mother was sitting quietly watching us. I am afraid she felt I had gone a long way from her—or perhaps it was the effect of Leonidas. We had forgotten to warn the family he was coming. The first sight of Leonidas was always a shock to any one. Even my sister, who was thoroughly doggy, had recoiled when he smiled at her at the station. Helen was finding a succession of wonders through the omnibus window.

"We've taken a small house out Kensington way, where you'll live with us for the present, Ted." I looked up in surprise at my father's words.

"It will be much more economical and in every way better, until Helen learns English housekeeping," my mother said.

"I suppose you've some work for me to do?" I asked anxiously, for I thought I saw the first trace of a cloud on Helen's face.

"We'll talk about that later," my father replied, with a desire to change the subject obvious in his tone.

It is a long drive from Euston to Kensington. I sat close to Helen and pointed out the streets and buildings we passed. Her interest was keen, eager, for the panorama contained many places that we had talked about—the Marble Arch, Park Lane, Hyde Park Corner, Knightsbridge. Names were changing into realities before her eyes—and all the while my sister and mother sat studying Helen. I was extremely quick to detect my mother's unexpressed opinions and impressions, chiefly because I had differed so often with them that instinct had taught me how to anticipate, when possible, her displeasure. And I could feel, with absolute certainty, as our bus trotted on down Knightsbridge, that she had made up her mind to be hostile. "Very well," I thought to myself, "Helen and I must fight it out alone, then." My father was looking out the rear window; I recognized from his attitude that he had sensed the same thing I had. Perhaps the news had not been so well received as letters had led me to suppose. I was hoping desperately that the sensitive girl by my side would not notice the growing tension in the air.

It was a pleasant house before which we stopped. There were a few shrubs in front, and the yellow cream stucco residence appeared to hint at a bit of garden behind. It was on a quiet side street and stood in the centre of a row of other houses exactly like it.

Chitty, now three years our man-of-all-work, and Sims, my mother's maid, received us. Chitty drew himself up and saluted me, a thing he always did on my homecomings. He had been an officer's batman. "Glad to see you home, sir," he said.

"Thanks, Chitty. Kiddies all well?" He had a numerous family who lived out.

"Thank you, sir. Every one quite fit."

"It's good to see you back again, master Ted," Sims contributed. Chitty and Sims attacked the pile of luggage on the roof of the bus, after a preliminary run-in between Chitty and the driver concerning the best method to pursue. There was a new housemaid, who curtseyed to us as we entered.

"Your rooms are up here, Edward," said my mother. Helen and I followed her upstairs hand in hand. My sister tagged along in the rear. We were shown into a cozy little bedroom, with a cozier study off it. The windows looked out into the bit of garden which I had guessed was there. All my books and furniture were arranged as I had always had them, but in the bedroom there were several new things for Helen. A little box of a dressing room completed our quarters, which were tiny but ours. Helen's eyes lighted as she looked around. Then she walked straight up to my mother and kissed her. My mother received it coldly, making no return. Helen was so delighted with all that had been done for her that I don't think she noticed.

"Are you pleased, Ted?" my mother asked.

"Of course, mother. Why do you ask?"

Chitty arrived, bowed beneath a trunk. My mother and sister left us. The total of our baggage swamped our little rooms. It was all in at last and the door closed. The belated Sims arrived with hot water, just as Helen had seated herself on my lap in the study for a talk.

"Anything else I can fetch you, Mrs. Ted?" Sims inquired. We got her out of the way.

"Mrs. Ted!" Helen cried gleefully,—"what a delicious name for me! I love it!"

"Old Sims is a privileged character, dear. She is one of my earliest recollections. She is also the family safety-valve. Every one curses her when anything goes wrong."

Helen laughed. "What a delightfully absurd country, Ted. Imagine a Deep Harbor servant being any one's earliest recollection."

She began that feminine mystery known as "changing," still talking to me over her shoulder.

"Ted, I'll have to pinch myself—I can't believe I'm awake. Is it all really true?"

"Absolutely true," I answered, kissing her mouth.

"And to think you never told me about Chitty. He's marvellous. Where did you get him?"

"He's one of my finds," I answered. "I met this big chap one day on the street—looking for work. An ex-soldier with a good many years in India to his credit. I liked his face and the way he stood up to my questions. I offered him a job, and now I don't think he could be driven away. My father pays him, but when I am home, he regards himself as my exclusive property."

"We'll take him to the cottage with us, Ted. I won't have you without Chitty."

"I'd put on a dinner gown, Helen," I said, as I saw her getting out one of her afternoon dresses from a trunk.

"Just to dine at home with the family, Ted?"

"My mother is rather fussy about dinner. It is the one ceremony she believes in. And besides, I want Helen to look her beautifullest tonight."

I helped her unpack a bit, for she began to exclaim over the condition of her dresses as she took them out.

"You might as well leave them," I objected. "Sims will see to them."

I made her put on all her finery, including the few pieces of simple jewelry that had been among her wedding presents. The total effect was most satisfactory to my eyes. She seemed more beautiful every time I looked at her.

The dinner gong had gone about five minutes before we were ready to come down. I had clumsily mussed Helen's hair at the last moment, and there had been a pause to repair the damage.

"I wish, Ted, you would try, while you are in my house, to be on time to dinner," my mother said as we sat down.

The dinner began under an air of constraint, for it was always difficult for me to conceal my irritation when my mother rebuked me. My sister smiled sympathy and reassurance across the table at me, and Chitty hovered about me with the hock. Helen felt that I had been put off and kept her eyes on her plate. Right after the soup, Leonidas was ordered out of the room. I was on the verge of a protest when I felt Helen's hand on my arm. Instead, there was another silence.

"Helen, where did you and Ted get that extraordinary dog?" my sister asked, meaning well.

"Let us talk about something pleasant, if we can," my mother cut in. Revolt came near to breaking forth. My father saved the situation this time by telling me rapidly some story of an occurrence during my absence.

The table was cleared at last, and I was left with my father and our glasses of port. I could hear my mother playing a Beethoven sonata, which I knew for an ominous sign. The piano was her refuge in times of stress. When things were very bad, she played Bach. My father and I looked at each other, each waiting for the other to begin. I was damned if I would, for I felt most emphatically that Helen required no explanation. Any one who could not see by looking once at her that she was the most adorable girl in the world—words failed even my thoughts.

"It isn't Helen—it's you," my father said, studying his cigar.

"I don't see—" I began.

"Steady, Ted. Listen to me. There are a good many factors in the problem. Your mother idolizes you—"

"It has been fairly well dissembled tonight—"

"Be quiet, Ted! I won't have you speak in that way. If you knew more about the world—or about women—you would know that it is very hard for your mother to forgive the woman who marries you—you are an only son—Ted, you must not explode until I have finished. Last of all, she can't quite forgive you for getting married when she was not there. Nothing has ever hurt her so much as not being at your wedding. Can't you understand?"

"Well, what am I to do? Sit quiet while she insults Helen?"

"You are riding for trouble, Ted, if you go at it like that. Helen will bring her around in no time, provided you behave yourself. I think your wife has commonsense—she has a level-headed look in her face—"

"Thank you very much," I sneered.

"She's good old American stock like the rest of us, Ted, and I'll back her to win. I haven't been home much, Ted, for a good many years, but I recognized her type the instant I saw her at Euston. Now the thing for you to do is to go out of your way to be nice to your mother—and leave the rest to Helen."

"Considering everything," I replied, "I think my mother might meet me at least half way. I've been out in America for over a year, working ten hours a day in a bloody factory, and when I come home with the best wife in the world, I am regarded as having done something criminal."

"Don't be an ass, Ted—or try to make yourself sorry for yourself. You had a damned good time with your ten hours a day, as you call it, and you got a jolly sight better reward for it than you deserve. In my humble opinion, Helen is too good for you."

"We agree on one thing—that's a blessing," I answered, feeling that I was losing when I really had a good case. "I'll do what I can, but I won't sit by and see Helen—"

"Oh, shut up, Ted! To use plain American, you make me tired. Go into the drawing room and be nice to your mother. Tell her what you have been doing. She'll like to hear about the ten hours a day. You can pitch it strong."

I looked up and saw Helen standing at the door. "Won't you come into the drawing room, Ted? I think your mother expects you."

"Come here, little girl," my father said to Helen. She went and sat on his lap. "Can you manage that boy?"

Helen smiled at me and kissed her father-in-law by way of answer.

"You speak American, don't you?"

Helen nodd............