She had, too, a cut finger on her right hand, and a burned thumb on her left.

But she was Billy--and being Billy, she advanced with a bright smile and held out a cordial hand--not even wincing when the cut finger came under Calderwell's hearty clasp.
"I'm glad to see you," she welcomed him.

"You'll excuse my not appearing sooner, I'm sure, for--didn't Bertram tell you ?--I'm playing Bridget to-night.

But dinner is ready now, and we'll go down, please," she smiled, as she laid a light hand on her guest's arm.
Behind her, Bertram, remembering the scene in the kitchen, stared in sheer amazement.

Bertram, it might be mentioned again, had been married six months, not six years.
What Billy had intended to serve for a "simple dinner" that night was: grapefruit with cherries, oyster stew, boiled halibut with egg sauce, chicken pie, squash, onions, and potatoes, peach fritters, a "lettuce and stuff" salad, and some new pie or pudding.