se we had a
quarrel about it, at the station, and he said things to me. In fact we
weren't speaking. And we weren't speaking last night either. The radiator
of his--our--car leaked, and we had to come home from the Coliseum in a
motor-bus. He couldn't get a taxi. It wasn't his fault, but a friend of
mine told me the day before I was married that a lady always ought to be
angry when her husband can't get a taxi after the theatre--she says it does
'em good. So first I told him he mustn't leave me to look for one. Then I
said I'd wait where I was, and then I said we'd walk on, and then I said we
must take a motor-bus. It was that that finished him. He said: 'Did I
expect him to invent a taxi when there wasn't one?' And he swore. So of
course I sulked. You must, you know. And my shoes were too thin and I felt
chilly. But only a fortnight before I was making cigarettes in the window
of Constantinopoulos's. Funny, isn't it? Otherwise he's behaved splendid.
Still, what I do say is a man's no right to be ill when he's taking you to
Paris on your honeymoon. I knew he was going to be ill when I left him in
the cabin, but he stuck me out he wasn't. A man that's so bad he can't come
to his wife when _she's_ bad isn't a man--that's what I say. Don't you
think so? You know all about that sort of thing, I lay."

Audrey said briefly that she did think so, glad that the peeress's intense
and excusable interest in herself kept her from being curious about others.

"Marriage ain't all chocolate-creams," said the peeress after a pause.
"Have one?" And she opened her bag very hospitably.

Then she turned to her magazines. And no sooner had she glanced at the
cover of the second one than she gave a squeal, and, fetching deep breaths,
passed the periodical to Audrey. At the top of the cover was printed in
large letters the title of a story by a famous author of short tales. It
ran:

"MAN OVERBOARD."

Henceforward a suspicion that had lain concealed in the undergrowth of the
hearts of the two girls stalked boldly about in full daylight.

"He's done it, and he's done it to spite me!" murmured Lady Southminster
tearfully.

"Oh no!" Audrey protested. "Even if he had fallen overboard he'd have been
seen and the captain would have stopped the boat."

"Where do you come from?" Lady Southminster retorted with disdain. "That's
an _omen_, that is"--pointing to the words on the cover of the magazine.
"What else could it be? I ask you."

When