as solved a tremendous problem."

At this point Billy dropped the paper. She flung it down, indeed, a bit
angrily. There were still a few more words in the criticism, mostly the
critic's own opinion of the book; but Billy did not care for this. She
had read quite enough--boo much, in fact. All that sort of talk might
be very well, even necessary, perhaps (she told herself), for ordinary
husbands and wives! but for her and Bertram--

Then vividly before her rose those initial quoted words:

"Perhaps the first test comes when the young wife awakes to the
realization that while her husband loves her very much, he can still
make plans with his old friends which do not include herself."

Billy frowned, and put her finger to her lips. Was that then, last
night, a "test"? Had she been "tyrannical and exacting"? Was she
"everlastingly peering into the recesses" of Bertram's mind and
"weighing his every act"? Was Bertram already beginning to "chafe" under
these new bonds that held him?

No, no, never that! She could not believe that. But what if he should
sometime begin to chafe? What if they two should, in days to come,
degenerate into just the ordinary, everyday married folk, whom she saw
about her everywhere, and for whom just such horrid books as this must
be written? It was unbelievable, unthinkable. And yet, that man had
said--

With a despairing sigh Billy picked up the paper once more and read
carefully every word again. When she had finished she stood soberly
thoughtful, her eyes out of the window.

After all, it was nothing but the same old story. She was exacting.
She did want her husband's every thought. She _gloried_ in peering into
every last recess of his mind if she had half a chance. She was jealous
of his work. She had almost hated his painting--at times. She had held
him up with a threatened scene only the night before and demanded that
he should give an account of himself. She had, very likely, been the
clinging vine when she should have been the sturdy oak.

Very well, then. (Billy lifted her head and threw back her shoulders.)
He should have no further cause for complaint. She would be an oak. She
would cultivate that comfortable indifference to his comings and goings.
She would brush up against other interests and personalities so as to
be "new" and "interesting" to her husband. She would not be tyrannical,
exacting, or jealous. She would not threaten scenes, nor peer into
recesses. Whatever happe