will would be the loser
when comparisons were made--since the Constantine house had twice the
possibilities and so on, and Beatrice twice the taste. And what an
achievement it would be; a distinct civic improvement!... Yes, Gay was
working with the best firms in New York, and there was no doubt of his
success in the enterprise.

Before she left, Trudy had almost secured Beatrice's promise that the
Constantine house should be made into an Italian villa and that, if
she so decided, Gay should have the commission. There was a place at
Frascati she had always admired, and they could use some ideas from a
show place in Florida.

Had Trafalgar terminated differently Napoleon would have been no more
surprised or jubilant than Trudy, who fairly skidded home to the new
and more pretentious apartment, where she found Gay in one of his
sneering, sulky moods and quite angry to think Trudy was carrying the
day.

"How do I know Alice Twill will really come across?" he began. "And I
suppose you've got the machine covered with mud, too. Anyway, what do
I know about decorating? I work on my reputation and everyone's
sympathies and I'm in fear all the time some real decorator will turn
up and show my hand or else refuse to work under me and split
commissions. You're too damned optimistic."

"If I wasn't optimistic where would we be? Starving," she said with no
attempt at politeness. Common courtesies between them had long since
been dispensed with. "I've gotten you nearly everything you have, and
if you'll do as I say I'll go right on getting things for you. But
you're lazy and jealous--that's what's the matter."

He gave a sneering little laugh. "Why, you poor nobody, people only
tolerate you because of me. They roar behind your back."

"Do they? They pity me because I'm married to such a weak fish! Men
are nice to you because of me--and there isn't a woman I've met that I
have not made afraid of me. Beatrice hasn't the will power of a slug;
you can hand her flattery in chunks as big as boulders and she
swallows them without choking. It's her husband who sees through us."

"What--the goat tender? Oh, beg pardon--treading on someone else's
toes. Or didn't they have goats in Michigan?"

"We'll never hang together another year," she said, recklessly. "The
first chance I have to exchange you for a real man your day is over."

"You think any one else would marry you?"

"I don't think. I just go ahead grabbing everything I can, an