man, he said,
necessarily saw a great deal of Alice Lancaster, for he was her business
agent. It was, perhaps, not necessary for him to see her every day, but
it was natural that he should. The arrow stuck and rankled. And later,
at an entertainment, when she saw Norman laughing and enjoying himself
in a group of old friends, among whom was Alice Lancaster, Mrs. Norman
was on fire with suspicion, and her attitude toward Alice
Lancaster changed.

So, before Norman was aware of it, he found life completely changed for
him. As a boatman on a strange shore in the night-time drifts without
knowing of it, he, in the absorption of his business, drifted away from
his old relation without marking the process. His wife had her life and
friends, and he had his. He made at times an effort to recover the old
relation, but she was too firmly held in the grip of the life she had
chosen for him to get her back.

His wife complained that he was out of sympathy with her, and he could
not deny it. She resented this, and charged him with neglecting her. No
man will stand such a charge, and Norman defended himself hotly.

"I do not think it lies in your mouth to make such a charge," he said,
with a flash in his eye. "I am nearly always at home when I am not
necessarily absent. You can hardly say as much. I do not think my worst
enemy would charge me with that. Even Ferdy Wickersham would not
say that."

She fired at the name.

"You are always attacking my friends," she declared. "I think they are
quite as good as yours."

Norman turned away. He looked gloomily out of the window for a moment,
and then faced his wife again.

"Louise," he said gravely, "if I have been hard and unsympathetic, I
have not meant to be. Why can't we start all over again? You are more
than all the rest of the world to me. I will give up whatever you object
to, and you give up what I object to. That is a good way to begin." His
eyes had a look of longing in them, but Mrs. Wentworth did not respond.

"You will insist on my giving up my friends," she said.

"Your friends? I do not insist on your giving up any friend on earth.
Mrs. Nailor and her like are not your friends. They spend their time
tearing to pieces the characters of others when you are present, and
your character when you are absent. Wickersham is incapable of being
a friend."

"You are always so unjust to him," said Mrs. Wentworth, warmly.

"I am not unjust to him. I have known him all my li