d for nothing, who spent
her days in a round of pleasure. He took her hand as she stood beside
him, and raised it to his lips.

"I have been a miserable failure as a husband for you, Mary," he said.
"You remember that they used jestingly to call you the bishop's wife, and
said that you would never regret having married a parson. Well, I really
thought in those days that I should make up for the disparity in our
relative positions, and raise you to an eminence worthy of you."

"Poor old John!" laughed his wife, smoothing his gleaming, silvery hair.
"It's not your fault. Father ought to have done more. He's a perfect
beast. He is a miser, mean, deceitful, avaricious, spiteful, everything
that's wicked. He is ruining you, and he will ruin Dick, too. He
threatens that, when he dies, we may find all his wealth left to
charities. Charities, indeed, when we have to pinch and screw to satisfy
insolent tradesmen, and the everlasting hunger of a lot of cringing,
crawling loafers and vagabonds who won't work!"

"Hush, hush, my darling! Don't let's get on that topic to-night. We never
agree as to some things, and we never shall."

"There's talk, too, of Dick's going to the front. And that will cost
money. Anyway, I shall see father to-morrow. You must write to that
wretched builder man, and tell him he will have his money. I'll get it
somehow, if I have to pawn my jewels."

"Your father has repeatedly informed you, dearest," the rector objected,
"that your jewels do not really belong to you--that he has only loaned
them to you."

"Yes, that's a device of his, although they belonged to my mother. At any
rate, write the man a sharp letter."

"Very well, my dear," replied the rector, wearily, and he rose, and
walked with bowed head toward his desk. "I'll say that I hope to pay
him."

The two had been through scenes like this before, but never had the
situation hitherto been so desperate as to-night.

Netty, soft-footed and soft-voiced, returned to announce that the
carriage was ready. Mrs. Swinton thereupon threw away her cigarette, and
gathered up her train. For one moment, she bent over her husband's
shoulder, and pressed her soft, fair cheek to his.

"Don't look so worried, dear," she murmured. "What's a thousand dollars!
Why, I might win that much at bridge, to-night."

"Don't, darling, don't!" the husband groaned, distractedly.

Any mention of bridge was as salt upon an open wound to him. He knew that
his wife play