t me read my story. You know I am not
accustomed to this sort of thing. It is really my very 'first
appearance,' and I could not possibly tell it as the rest of you more
experienced people can do," and she took the manuscript out of her
lace bag, and, settling herself gracefully, unrolled it. The Youngster
put a stool under her pretty feet, and the Doctor set a cushion behind
her back, while the Journalist, with a laugh, poured her a glass of
water, and the Violinist ceremoniously leaned over, and asked, "Shall
I turn for you?"

She could not help laughing, but it did not make her any the less
nervous, or her voice any the less shaky as she began:

* * * * *

It was after dinner on one of those rare occasions when they dined
alone together.

They were taking coffee in Mrs. Shattuck's especial corner of the
drawing-room, and she had just asked her husband to smoke.

She was leaning back comfortably in a nest of cushions, in her very
latest gown, with a most becoming light falling on her from the tall,
yellow-shaded lamp.

He was facing her--astride his chair, in a position man has loved
since creation.

He was just thinking that his wife had never looked handsomer, finer,
in fact, in all her life--quite the satisfactory, all-round,
desirable sort of a woman a man's wife ought to be.

She was wondering if he would ever be any less attractive to all women
than he was now at forty-two--or any better able to resist his own
power.

As she put her coffee cup back on the tiny table at her elbow, he
leaned forward, and picked up a book which lay open on a chair near
him, and carelessly glanced at it.

"Schopenhauer," and he wrinkled his brows and glanced half whimsically
down the page. "I never can get used to a woman reading that
stuff--and in French, at that. If you took it up to perfect your
German there would be some sense in it."

Mrs. Shattuck did not reply. When a moment later, she did speak it was
to ignore his remark utterly, and ask:

"The _Kaiser Wilhelm_ got off in good season this morning--speaking of
German things?"

"Oh, yes," was the indifferent reply, "at ten o'clock, quite
promptly."

"I suppose she was comfortable, and that you explained why I could not
come?"

"Certainly. One of your beastly head-aches. She understood."

"Thank you."

Shattuck yawned lazily, and changed the subject, which did not seem to
interest him.

"Do you mean to say," he asked, s