daughter of the prominent Archibald Cross, without becoming notorious, than he could have established the Statue of Liberty's torch in his home without broadcast advertisement. Becky read the papers with refreshing punctiliousness, and the name of Mrs. Chadwick Booth appeared every week, during the season, in the society columns. Reba's acquired daily reading of the papers, however, did not include the society columns. She skipped them absolutely along with the sporting-page.
"I thought you couldn't help but know," Chadwick Booth went on. "And, besides, I was always talking about the closed house, and how forlorn it was, and how, if my family insisted upon running off to Bar Harbor for a good time, I intended to have a little good time here. Don't you remember?"
She nodded. "But I thought it was your mother and father. I didn't know it was your very own family."
"Well," Chadwick Booth reached over and patted her hand, "being married doesn't make me any less fond of you, Becky. Did you think it might?"
She quivered at his touch, and raised her eyes to him, full of hope. Then bravely and simply she asked him:
"Are you unhappily married?"
He laughed softly outloud at the concern in her voice.
"Oh, don't waste any of your sweet sympathy on me, Becky. I'm no more unhappily married than the majority. In fact, sometimes I think I'm more fortunate than most. Virginia's such a good sport."
