"No," Mrs. Baldwin walked to the gate, "I have a better way than that--a much better way," and she opened the gate.
"Say," Tracey detained Gerty, "do you sleep in your mother's room?"
"No. Why do you ask?"
"Because she's got a kind of craze about that husband of hers. You make some excuse and sleep in her room for a week or so till she forgets that the man came back. And if you see anything queer wire me, I'll be down in a shake. You catch on, Gerty B.?"
"No. What do you----"
Before Tracey could reply Mrs. Baldwin hailed them. "Here's Mr. Calvert. Gerty, come away," so the girl reluctantly had to go to her mother, but not before she whispered Tracey to write and explain.
"Can't, my dear," he whispered back uneasily. "I promised to hold my tongue. But keep an eye on your mother. Now do."
"There was no time to say any more, as Mrs. Baldwin was coming up the path with Arnold. She was telling him of her sufferings at great length, and nothing remained of the virago who had displayed such fierceness in the white room, save an unusually high colour. Tracey nodded to Calvert, who looked rather excited. Then came the toil of getting Mrs. Baldwin away, which took as long a time as it usually does to launch a ship. At last the cab drove off, and Gerty waved a farewell handkerchief to Tracey. Then the young men went into the house.
"I don't envy you Mrs. Baldwin, Tracey," said Calvert.
"I guess you've hit the bull's-eye," replied the American gloomily; "she's not such a fool as she looks, that old ma'am."