bered, with regret, that she had omitted
to tell him that French was coming to tea. He was already halfway
downstairs, but she came out into the passageway and called him. He
stopped, gave a weary sigh, and came back.

"I forgot to tell you Mr. French is coming to tea," she said, quite in
her usual tone.

"Who asked him?" demanded Simeon, and Deena, too proud to put the
responsibility on French, where it belonged, said: "I did."

Simeon was not an ill-tempered man, but he had had an exasperating
day, and his wife's conduct had offended his prejudices; he was not in
a company frame of mind, and was at small pains to conceal his
feelings; he hardly looked at her as he said:

"I do not question your right to ask people to the house, but I should
be glad to be consulted. My time is often precious beyond what you can
appreciate, and I happen to be exceptionally busy to-night--even
French will be an unwelcome interruption."

"I shall remember your wish," Deena said, quietly, and returned to her
room.

A moment later she heard Stephen arrive, and the study door shut
behind him.

Her toilet was soon made. She knew every idiosyncrasy of the hooks and
buttons of her well-worn afternoon frock. It was dark blue, of some
clinging material that fell naturally into graceful lines, and was
relieved at the throat and wrists by embroidered bands always
immaculate. The damp sea breeze had ruffled her hair into rebellion
against the sleekness Simeon approved, so that, in spite of her
efforts, some effects of the holiday still lingered. Suppressed tears
had made violet shadows under her eyes, and her mouth--sweet and
sensitive like a child's--drooped a little in recollection of her
annoyances, but, all the same, she was a very beautiful young woman,
whether sad or merry.

The study door was still shut as she passed downstairs and into the
little parlor. Her workbasket was standing by her chair, piled high
with mending that she had neglected for her pleasuring. It was
Saturday night, and no good housewife should let the duties of one
week overlap the next. Simeon's aphorism, "A day off means a night
on," seemed likely to be her experience with darning needle and
patches, but it was a quarter past seven, and she deferred beginning
her task till after tea.

The servant announced the meal, and by Deena's orders knocked at the
study door, but got no response; indeed, the _piece de resistance_--the
smoked beef and eggs--had almost ha