rnestly, leaning toward her.

"Cicily, you can't realize what a pleasure it is to a fellow, when he is
pounding away downtown, to stop for a second and think of his wife at
home waiting for him--that dear girl who loves him--the darling one far
away from all the turmoil of the sordid fight."

The rhapsody, although genuine enough, was not satisfying to the wife.
The limit of time to a "second" was unfortunate. There was distinct
irony in her tone as she answered with a question:

"And the farther away the home, the greater the pleasure, doubtless?"

For once, Hamilton was susceptible; and he was keenly distressed,
momentarily.

"Cicily!" he cried. "You don't doubt my love, do you? Why, when a man
and a woman marry, each ought to take the other's love for granted--take
it on faith."

But the wife was in no wise consoled by this trite defense. It had been
made too familiar to her in previous discussions between them. Her
answer was tinged with bitterness:

"That's the only way in which I've had a chance to take it lately," she
said slowly, with her eyes downcast.

The persistence of her mood aggravated the man beyond the bounds of that
restraint which he had imposed on himself. His nerves were overwrought,
and, under the impulse of irritation over another worry at home added to
those by which he was already overburdened, he flared.

"Cicily!" he exclaimed, sharply. "What in the world has come over you?
You don't want to hold me back, do you? You don't want to be that sort
of a wife?"

"Charles!" Cicily exclaimed, in her turn sharply. She was grievously
hurt by this rebuke from the man whom she loved.

"Forgive me!" Hamilton begged, swiftly contrite. "I'm just
nervous--tired. It's been a fearfully hard day downtown."

His obvious sincerity won instant forgiveness. Cicily rose from her
chair, and came to seat herself on the arm of his. He took one of her
hands in his, and her free hand stroked his hair in a familiar caress.
When she spoke, it was with a tenderness that was half-humility.

"Would it help, dear, to talk to me? We used always to talk over things,
you know. Don't you remember? You said ever so many times that I had so
much common sense!"

Again, Hamilton spoke with a tactlessness that was fairly appalling:

"Oh, yes, I remember very well. That was before we were married."

"Yes--before!" There was scorn in the emphasis of the repetition. It
aroused the husband to knowledge of his blunder.