he was much the same now as he had been
before the war. Blanchard could dance and talk small talk and laugh and
enjoy himself. Well, so could he, on occasions, for that matter, if that
had been all. But it was not all, or if it was why was he at other times
so discontented and uncomfortable? What was the matter with him, anyway?

He drew more and more into his shell and became more quiet and less
talkative. Madeline, in one of her moods, reproached him for it.

"I do wish you wouldn't be grumpy," she said.

They had been sitting in the library and he had lapsed into a fit of
musing, answering her questions with absentminded monosyllables. Now he
looked up.

"Grumpy?" he repeated. "Was I grumpy? I beg your pardon."

"You should. You answered every word I spoke to you with a grunt or a
growl. I might as well have been talking to a bear."

"I'm awfully sorry, dear. I didn't feel grumpy. I was thinking, I
suppose."

"Thinking! You are always thinking. Why think, pray? . . . If I
permitted myself to think, I should go insane."

"Madeline, what do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm partially insane now, perhaps. Come, let's go to the
piano. I feel like playing. You don't mind, do you?"

That evening Mrs. Fosdick made a suggestion to her husband.

"Fletcher," she said, "I am inclined to think it is time you and Albert
had a talk concerning the future. A business talk, I mean. I am a little
uneasy about him. From some things he has said to me recently I gather
that he is planning to earn his living with his pen."

"Well, how else did you expect him to earn it; as bookkeeper for the
South Harniss lumber concern?"

"Don't be absurd. What I mean is that he is thinking of devoting himself
to literature exclusively. Don't interrupt me, please. That is very
beautiful and very idealistic, and I honor him for it, but I cannot see
Madeline as an attic poet's wife, can you?"

"I can't, and I told you so in the beginning."

"No. Therefore I should take him to one side and tell him of the opening
in your firm. With that as a means of keeping his feet on the ground his
brain may soar as it likes, the higher the better."

Mr. Fosdick, as usual, obeyed orders and that afternoon Albert and he
had the "business talk." Conversation at dinner was somewhat strained.
Mr. Fosdick was quietly observant and seemed rather amused about
something. His wife was dignified and her manner toward her guest was
inclined to be abrupt. Albert's app