ed out, with irrepressible enthusiasm:

"Yes, yes, Charles, we'll show 'em! We'll show 'em!"

For a moment, the man stared at the speaker dumfounded by the unexpected
outbreak. Presently, however, the import of her speech began to be made
clear to him. "We?" he repeated, doubtfully. "You mean--" He hesitated,
then added: "You mean that you--and I--that is, you mean that you--?"

"Yes, yes," Cicily answered hastily, with no abatement of her excitement
and triumph. "Yes, together, we'll show 'em!"

At this explicit declaration, Hamilton burst out laughing.

"You!" he ejaculated, derisively.

"Yes, I," Cicily maintained, stoutly. "Why, I showed Mrs. Carrington
the other day. Next, we'll beat her husband. You know, I beat her for
the presidency of the club."

"Well, then, stick to your club, my dear," Hamilton counseled, tersely.
"I'll attend to the real business for this family." His face was grown
somber again.

"That's just like Uncle Jim," Cicily retorted, bitterly disappointed by
this disillusionment. "I suppose you want me to be like Aunt Emma."

"She's perfect--certainly!"

Cicily abandoned the struggle for the time being, acknowledging almost
complete defeat. There was only a single consoling thought. At least, he
had talked with her intimately concerning his affairs. With an abrupt
change of manner, she stood up listlessly, and spoke in such a fashion
as might become an old-fashioned wife, although her voice was lifeless.

"I'll get your house-coat, dear," she said, simply. "And, then, while
you look after your business during the evening, I'll do--my knitting!"
Her hands clenched tightly as she went forth from the study, but the
master of the house was unobservant when it came to such insignificant
details. He was already poring over the documents on the table; but he
called out amiably as he heard the door open.

"That's the dear girl!" he said.

CHAPTER V

Two evenings after this memorable interview between husband and wife,
Carrington and Morton were closeted with Hamilton in his library. To
anyone who had chanced to look in on the group, it would have seemed
rather an agreeable trio of friends passing a sociable evening of
elegant leisure. Hamilton alone, as he sat in the chair before the
table, displayed something of his inner feelings by the creases between
his brows and the compression of his lips and a slight tensity in his
attitude. Morton was stretched gracefully in a chair facing