I've been sorry about a good many other things since. Do you think—do you think you could forgive me?"
"Well, I just guess I could," returned Mrs. Crane, heartily. "After all, it was just as much my fault as it was yours—maybe more."
"No, I never thought that, Sarah. I was the one to blame."
When the door opened a moment later to admit the finger-bowls and all four of the girls, who had licked the ice cream platter and had nothing more to do in the kitchen since everything had been served, there, to the housekeepers' unbounded amazement, were Mr. Black and Mrs. Crane, with their arms stretched across the little table, holding each other's middle-aged hands in a tight clasp, and both had tears in their eyes.
The girls looked at them in consternation.
"Was—was it the dinner?" ventured Mabel, at last. "Was it as bad as—as all that?"
