only I didn't live
in the country."

She came away as usual, feeling of having run into a cul de sac. Mrs.
Holt's house was a refuge, not an outlet; and thither Honora directed
her steps when a distaste for lunching alone or with some of her
Rivington friends in the hateful, selfish gayety of a fashionable
restaurant overcame her; or when her moods had run through a cycle, and
an atmosphere of religion and domesticity became congenial.

"Howard," she asked unexpectedly one evening, as he sat smoking beside
the blue tiled mantel, "have you got on your winter flannels?"

"I'll bet a hundred dollars to ten cents," he cried, "that you've been
lunching with Mrs. Holt."

"I think you're horrid," said Honora.

Something must be said for her. Domestic virtue, in the face of such
mocking heresy, is exceptionally difficult of attainment.

Mrs. Holt had not been satisfied with Honora's and Susan's accounts of
the house in Stafford Park. She felt called upon to inspect it. And
for this purpose, in the spring following Honora's marriage, she made
a pilgrimage to Rivington and spent the day. Honora met her at the
station, and the drive homeward was occupied in answering innumerable
questions on the characters, conditions, and modes of life of Honora's
neighbours.

"Now, my dear," said Mrs. Holt, when they were seated before the fire
after lunch, "I want you to feel that you can come to me for everything.
I must congratulate you and Howard on being sensible enough to start
your married life simply, in the country. I shall never forget the
little house in which Mr. Holt and I began, and how blissfully happy I
was." The good lady reached out and took Honora's hand in her own. "Not
that your deep feeling for your husband will ever change. But men are
more difficult to manage as they grow older, my dear, and the best
of them require a little managing for their own good. And increased
establishments bring added cares and responsibilities. Now that I am
here, I have formed a very fair notion of what it ought to cost you to
live in such a place. And I shall be glad to go over your housekeeping
books with you, and tell you if you are being cheated as I dare say you
are."

"Oh, Mrs. Holt," Honora faltered, "I--I haven't kept any books. Howard
just pays the bills."

"You mean to say he hasn't given you any allowance!" cried Mrs. Holt,
aghast. "You don't know what it costs to run this house?"

"No," said Honora, humbly. "I never th