lter for them."

"What time does your speaker begin?" inquired John, lighting a fresh
cigar.

"John, you are smoking too much," remonstrated Mrs. Jack.

"I know it, honey."

"Rudolph begins at nine; if we go then that will be soon enough.
You'll be amused. Have you been riding lately?" Warrington directed
this question to Patty.

"Yes, regularly every morning." Patty dallied with the crumbs at the
side of her plate.

"I don't know what's the matter with me, but I find it wearies me to
climb on to a horse's back. I haven't got back to normal conditions
yet."

"I was wondering where you were."

"And how is Jove?" asked Mrs. Jack.

"He's snoozing out on the veranda. I take him everywhere now."

Presently they moved into the living-room. Warrington longed to sit
beside Patty, but of a sudden he had grown diffident. It amused him to
come into the knowledge that all his address and worldliness would not
stand him in good stead in the presence of Patty. Words were no longer
at his command; he was no longer at his ease. He was afraid of Patty;
and he was very, very lonely. That empty house over the way was no
longer home. There were moments when he regretted his plunge into
politics. He was not free to pack his luggage and speed away to lands
that urged his fancy. He had given his word, and he was too much of a
man to withdraw it. He must remain here and fight two battles.

Mrs. Jack had taken the seat next to him, and was asking him about the
progress of the play. It was going on so indifferently that he was of
half a mind to destroy it, which he did later. His glance always came
back to Patty. She was bent over her basket-work. She was calling him
Mr. Warrington again. Had he offended her in any manner? The light
from the lamp sparkled in her hair. She was as fresh and beautiful as
a July rose. But Mrs. Jack was an artist. She knew how to draw him
out; and shortly he was talking animatedly. It was now that Patty's
eyes began to rove.

John, his fingers meeting in an arch, one leg thrown restlessly across
the other, thoughtfully eyed his wife and his friend. ... It was a
lie; there was nothing in all the world so honest as Warrington's
hand, so truthful as his wife's eyes. Cursed be the doubt that had
wedged between these two he loved!

Time passes quickly or slowly, according to the state of mind. To John
the time was long; to Patty and Warrington it was too short; to Mrs.
Jack it was neither long nor short,