soothed him inexplicably.

"Sorry you don't like my clothes," he replied. "You'll get used to
them."

"Get used to them!" his better half repeated, almost hysterically. "Do
you mean to say you are going about like that?"

"Something like it," Burton admitted.

"No silk hat, no tail coat?"

Burton shook his head gently.

"I trust," he said, "that I have finished, for the present, at any rate,
with those most unsightly garments."

"Come inside," Ellen ordered briskly.

They passed into the little sitting-room. Burton glanced around him
with a half-frightened sense of apprehension. His memory, at any rate,
had not played him false. Everything was as bad--even worse than he had
imagined. The suite of furniture which was the joy of his wife's heart
had been, it is true, exceedingly cheap, but the stamped magenta velvet
was as crude in its coloring as his own discarded tie. He looked at the
fringed cloth upon the table, the framed oleographs upon the wall, and
he was absolutely compelled to close his eyes. There was not a single
thing anywhere which was not discordant.

Mrs. Burton had not yet finished with the subject of clothes. The
distaste upon her face had rather increased. She looked her husband up
and down and her eyes grew bright with anger.

"Well, I did think," she declared, vigorously, "that I was marrying a
man who looked like a gentleman, at least! Do you mean to say, Alfred,
that you mean to go into the city like that?"

"Certainly," Burton replied. "And Ellen!"

"Well?"

"Since we are upon the subject of dress, may I have a few words? You
have given expression to your dislikes quite freely. You will not mind
if I do the same?"

"Well, what have you got to say?" she demanded, belligerently.

"I don't like your bun," Burton said firmly.

"Don't like my what?" his wife shrieked, her hands flying to the back of
her head.

"I don't like your bun--false hair, or whatever you call it," Burton
repeated. "I don't like that brooch with the false diamonds, and if you
can't afford a clean white blouse, I'd wear a colored one."

Mrs. Burton's mouth was open but for the moment she failed to express
herself adequately. Her husband continued.

"Your skirt is fashionable, I suppose, because it is very short and very
tight, but it makes you walk like a duck, and it leaves unconcealed so
much of your stockings that I think at least you should be sure that
they are free from holes."

"You called my skir