in the morning."

"'Have,' my dear Marthe, is a word which admits of many
substitutions,--'cannot' in this case will be a suitable one. I find it
is necessary to resume possession of the reins. Atalanta is retrograding
and is rapidly losing that characteristic of speed which made her name a
fitting one. There is a lack of mastery about a woman's handling of the
ribbons which is quickly detected by horses, especially when they are of
more than average intelligence."

"But, Horace, if Reuben goes, Joanna will go too. You know she promised
her mother she would never leave him."

"In that event, my dear, you will have an opportunity to become more
intimately acquainted with the mysteries of the culinary art," observed
Mr. Everidge cheerfully. "It will be a splendid chance to evolve that
finest of character combinations, Spartan endurance coupled with
American progressiveness."

Mrs. Everidge smiled. "But what if I do not have the Spartan strength,
Horace?"

"That is merely a matter of imagination, my love. It proves the truth of
my theory that necessity develops capacity. A woman of leisure, for want
of suitable mental pabulum, grows to fancy she has every ill that flesh
is heir to, whereas, when she is obliged by compelling circumstances to
put her muscles into practice, her mind acquires a more healthy tone.
Self-contemplation is a most enervating exercise and involves a
tremendous drain on the moral forces."

"Do you think I waste much time in that way, Horace?" Mrs. Everidge
spoke wistfully, and Evadne, forced to be an unwilling listener to the
conversation, felt her cheeks grow hot with indignation.

"My dear, I merely refer to the deplorable tendency of your sex. All you
require is moral stamina to tear yourself away from the arms of Morpheus
at an earlier hour in the It is a popular illusion, you know, that work
performed before sunrise takes less time to accomplish and is better
done than later in the day. My mother used to affirm that she
accomplished the work of two days in one when she arose at three a.m.,
but then my mother was a most exceptional woman," with which parting
thrust Mr. Everidge retired behind the pages of his magazine.

Upstairs in her own room Evadne paced the floor with tightly clenched
hands. "Oh!" she cried, "what shall I do? I hate him! I hate him! How
dare he! He ought to be glad to go down on his knees to serve her, she
is so sweet, so dear! Oh, I cannot bear it! That she should b