er own particular barn-door, too! Upon my
soul, it was too amusing. I wonder she didn't throw something at you.
She's like that when she's in her tantrums."

The waiter came in with the wine and my husband poured out a glass for
me.

"Have a drink. No? Well, here's to your health, my dear. I can't get
over it. I really can't. Lena's too funny for anything. Why, what else
do you think she's been saying? She's been saying I'll come back to her
yet. Yes, 'I'll give him six months to come crawling back to me,' she
said to Eastcliff and Vivian and some of the other fellows at the Club.
Wonder if she thinks so now? . . . I wonder?"

He threw away his cigarette, drank another glass of the wine, came close
up to me and said in a lower tone, which made my skin creep as with
cold.

"Whether she's right or wrong depends on you, though."

"On me?"

"Why, yes, of course. That's only natural. One may have all the goodwill
in the world, but a man's a man, you know."

I felt my lips quivering with anger, and in an effort to control myself
I rose to go, but my husband drew me back into my chair and sat on the
arm of it.

"Don't go yet. By the way, dear, I've never thanked you for the
beautiful flowers with which you decorated my room this morning.
Charming! But I always knew you would soon come round to it."

"Come round to what?" I said, but it was just as if somebody else were
speaking.

"_You_ know. Of course you know. When that simple old priest proposed
that ridiculous compact I agreed, but I knew quite well that it would
soon break down. Not on my side, though. Why should it? A man can afford
to wait. But I felt sure you would soon tire of your resistance. And you
have, haven't you? Oh, I'm not blind. I've seen what's been going on,
though I've said nothing about it."

Again I tried to rise, and again my husband held me to my seat, saying:

"Don't be ashamed. There's no reason for that. You were rather hard on
me, you know, but I'm going to forget all about it. Why shouldn't I?
I've got the loveliest little woman in the world, so I mean to meet her
half way, and she's going to get over her convent-bred ideas and be my
dear little darling wife. Now isn't she?"

I could have died of confusion and the utter degradation of shame. To
think that my poor efforts to please him, my vain attempts to look up to
him and reverence him, my bankrupt appeals to the spiritual woman in me
that I might bring myself to love him, as I