hose which did not at once strike the eye.

And I see now that Lucy talked more than usually about her husband. It
was as if by doing constant justice to his character she hoped to make
up to him for her failure of affection. In his domestic relations he
was a real hero by all accounts. Didn't I _think_ they lived nicely?
She thought so, too, but it wasn't her fault. She was so extravagant,
and such a bad manager, it was a wonder they could live at all. She
admitted so much with shame. But if I could understand how it is with
some men about drink, then it must be easy for me to understand how it
is with some women about money. Oh, she'd spent John into some
dreadful holes; but he had always managed to creep out of them. How he
hated an unpaid bill! It wasn't his fault that there were so many of
them. For her part (wasn't it awful!) they filled her neither with
shame nor compunction. And he'd been so fine about people. His
instinct was to be a scholar and a hermit. But she loved people, she
simply couldn't be happy without them, and (wasn't it fun?) she had had
her way, and now John liked people almost as much as she did. And he
had a knack of putting life and laughter into the simplest parties.

Sometimes when we had finished riding, we had tea in the garden. It
would be turning cool, and she would slip a heavy coon-skin coat over
her riding things; and there was a long voluminous polo-coat of John's
that I used to borrow. Evelyn nearly always joined us, John not so
often. Sometimes Dawson Cooper came. He was getting over his shyness.
Sometimes he was quite brazen and facetious. It looked almost as if he
was being encouraged by someone.

Of the sorrow that was gnawing at John Fulton's heart I saw no sign.
He was alert, hospitable, humorous often, and toward Lucy his manner
was wonderfully considerate and gentle. If I had guessed at anything,
it would have been that the wife was in trouble and not the husband.
He could not sit still for long at a time, but he did not in the least
suggest a man who was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. His
activity and sudden shiftings from place to place and from topic to
topic were rather those of a man who superabounds in physical and
mental energy.

At this time he did not know whether he and Lucy were going to separate
or not. If they should, he was already preparing dust to throw in the
world's eyes. He let it be known that at any moment he might have to