itably, their first quarrel.

It began as quarrels are so apt to do, by a complete agreement. Of
course he would stay over the next day, which was Sunday, and not very
busy in the office of _Liberty_. In return he expected her undivided
attention. She at once admitted that this was part of the plan--only
there would have to be one little exception; she was dining out this
evening. Oh, well, that could be broken, couldn't it? She would like
to break it, but it happened to be one of those engagements that had
to be kept. Ben could not understand that.

At first she tried to explain it to him: She had chosen her own
evening several weeks ago with these people, who wanted her to meet a
friend of theirs who was motoring down specially from Boston. She felt
she must keep her word.

"I assure you I don't want to, but you understand, don't you?"

If she had looked at his face she would not have asked the last
question. He did not understand; indeed, he had resolved not to.

"No," he said, "I must own, I don't. If you told me that you _wanted_
to go, that would be one thing. I shouldn't have a word to say then."

"Oh yes, you would, Ben," said Crystal, but he did not notice her.

"I can't understand your allowing yourself to be dragged there against
your will. You say you despise this life, but you seem to take it
pretty seriously if you can't break any engagement that you may make."

"How absurd you are! Of course I often break engagements."

"I see. You do when the inducement is sufficient. Well, that makes it
all perfectly clear."

She felt both angry and inclined to cry. She knew that to yield to
either impulse would instantly solve the problem and bring a very
unreasonable young man to reason. She ran over both scenes in her
imagination. Registering anger, she would rise and say that, really,
Mr. Moreton, if he would not listen to her explanation there was no
use in prolonging the discussion. That would be the critical moment.
He would take her in his arms then and there, or else he would let
her go, and they would drive in silence, and part at the little park,
where of course she might say, "Aren't you silly to leave me like
this?"--only her experience was that it was never very practical to
make up with an angry man in public.

To burst into tears was a safer method, but she had a natural
repugnance to crying, and perhaps she was subconsciously aware that
she might be left, after the quarrel was apparently mad