ly. "I am afraid this is rather a
shock for you, but good news never kills, you know. We'll motor up to
the band presently and I've asked the Johnsons to supper. If you've
nothing in the house, we'll all go up to the west-end somewhere. . . .
What's the matter with you?"

Ellen was looking at that moment positively handsome. Her cheeks were
scarlet and her eyes ablaze.

"Alfred Burton," she declared, "the last few times I've seen you, I've
put you down as being dotty. Now I am sure of it. The sooner you're
out of this, the better, before I lose my temper."

"But, my dear Ellen," he protested, soothingly, "I can assure you that
what I am telling you is the truth! I have become unexpectedly rich. A
fortunate stroke of business--the Menatogen Company, you know--has
completely altered our lives. You are naturally overcome--"

"Naturally over-fiddlesticks!" Ellen interrupted. "Look here, my man,
I've had about enough of this. You come down here, thinking because
you've come to your senses, and because you've got new clothes and a
motor-car, that you can just sit down as though nothing had happened.
Just let me tell you this--you can't do it! You can leave your wife
because she can't stop you. You can stay away from her because she
can't drag you back. But you can't come and put on a new suit of
clothes and bring a motor-car and say 'I've come back,' and sit down at
your usual place and find everything just as you've left it. You can't
do that, Alfred Burton, and you must be a bigger fool even than you look
to imagine that you can!"

"Ellen," he faltered, "don't you want me back?"

"Not I!" she replied, fiercely. "Not you nor your motor-car nor your
money nor any part of you. Come swaggering in, dropping your cigar ash
over the place, and behaving as though you'd been a respectable person
all your life!" she continued, indignantly. "What right have you got to
think that your wife was made to be your slave or your trained dog, to
beg when you hold out a piece of biscuit, and go and lie down alone when
you don't want her. Send your three pounds a week and get out of it.
That's all I want to hear of you! You know the way, don't you?"

Her outstretched forefinger pointed to the door. Burton had never felt
so pitifully short of words in his life.

"I--I've asked the Johnsons to supper," he stammered, as he took up his
hat.

"Take them to your west-end, then!" Ellen cried, scornfully. "Take them
riding in your motor-car.