od her, they would not care for her. And
finally, she comes not to bring peace, but a sword.

At quarter to seven one blustery evening of the April following their
fourth anniversary Honora returned from New York to find her husband
seated under the tall lamp in the room he somewhat facetiously called
his "den," scanning the financial page of his newspaper. He was in his
dressing gown, his slippered feet extended towards the hearth, smoking a
cigarette. And on the stand beside him was a cocktail glass--empty.

"Howard," she cried, brushing his ashes from the table, "how can you
be so untidy when you are so good-looking dressed up? I really believe
you're getting fat. And there," she added, critically touching a place
on the top of his head, "is a bald spot!"

"Anything else?" he murmured, with his eyes still on the sheet.

"Lots," answered Honora, pulling down the newspaper from before his
face. "For one thing, I'm not going to allow you to be a bear any more.
I don't mean a Stock Exchange bear, but a domestic bear--which is much
worse. You've got to notice me once in a while. If you don't, I'll get
another husband. That's what women do in these days, you know, when
the one they have doesn't take the trouble to make himself sufficiently
agreeable. I'm sure I could get another one quite easily," she declared.

He looked up at her as she stood facing him in the lamplight before the
fire, and was forced to admit to himself that the boast was not wholly
idle. A smile was on her lips, her eyes gleamed with health; her
furs--of silver fox--were thrown back, the crimson roses pinned on her
mauve afternoon gown matched the glow in her cheeks, while her hair
mingled with the dusky shadows. Howard Spence experienced one of those
startling, illuminating moments which come on occasions to the busy and
self-absorbed husbands of his nation. Psychologists have a name for such
a phenomenon. Ten minutes before, so far as his thoughts were concerned,
she had not existed, and suddenly she had become a possession which
he had not, in truth, sufficiently prized. Absurd though it was, the
possibility which she had suggested aroused in him a slight uneasiness.

"You are a deuced good-looking woman, I'll say that for you, Honora," he
admitted.

"Thanks," she answered, mockingly, and put her hands behind her back.
"If I had only known you were going to settle down in Rivington and get
fat and bald and wear dressing gowns and be a bear, I