the professor
vanished. "My dear you must not let Benis overwork you. He doesn't
intend to be unkind, but men never think."

CHAPTER XXIX

Desire turned back to her papers as the door closed. But her manner was
no longer brisk and business-like. There was a small, hot lump in her
throat.

"It isn't fair," she thought passionately. "It's all very well to talk,
but it does make a difference--it does. If I'm not his secretary what
am I?" A hot blush crimsoned her white skin and she stamped her foot.
"I'm not his wife. I'm not! I'm not!" she said defiantly.

There was no one to contradict her. Even Yorick was silent. And, as
contradiction is really necessary to belligerency, some of the fire
died out of her stormy eyes. But it flared again as thought flung
thought upon the embers.

"Wife!" How dared he use the word? And in that tone! A word that meant
nothing to him. Nothing, save a cold, calm statement of claim....
Not that she wanted it to mean anything else. Had she not, herself,
arranged a most satisfactory basis of coolness and calmness? (Reason
insisted upon reminding her of this.) And a strict recognition of this
basis was precisely what she wanted, of course. Only she wanted it as a
secretary and not as a--not as anything else.

"What's in a word?" asked Reason mildly. "Words mean only what you mean
by them. Wife or secretary, if they mean the same--"

Desire flung her note-books viciously into a drawer and banged it shut.

Why did things insist upon changing anyway? She had been content--well,
almost. She had not asked for more than she had. Why, then, should a
cross-grained fate insist upon her getting less? Since yesterday she
had not troubled even about Mary. Her self-ridicule at the absurdity of
her mistake regarding Dr. Rogers' pretty nurse had had a salutary
effect. And now--just when everything promised so well (self-pity began
to cool the hot lump in her throat). And just when she had made up her
mind that, however small her portion of her husband's thought might be,
it would be enough--well, almost enough--

A screech from Yorick made her start nervously.

"Cats!" said Yorick. "Oh the devil--cats!"

Desire laughed and firmly dislodged Aunt Caroline's big Maltese cat
from its place of vantage on the window-sill. The laughter dissolved
the last of the troublesome lump and she began to feel better. After
all, the book-weariness of which Benis had spoken would probably be a
passing phase. I