do likewise. You can go along. That is, we will call, if she
comes out first chop on Monday night."

"Mr. Stacy," said the superb matron in the back seat, drawing herself up
with wonderful dignity, "I don't mean to put on airs nor nothing because
I'm your lady and richer than some folks, or Mr. Hepworth wouldn't be an
honored guest in this here carriage; but I must set my foot square
aginst actresses and primmer donners--in short, theatre-clers in
general."

"Just you hear that," said Stacy, looking at Hepworth. "Isn't she coming
it down strong, and lifting of her head high?"

"It isn't that, Mr. Stacy, but because I am a wife and a--a woman--that
I feel called upon to stand between them creturs and the sect. Pay them
your money, Mr. Stacy--pay them any amount of money from the front--but
nothing beyond that, Mr. Stacy!"

"Oh, humbug," said Mr. Stacy; "that is putting it too strong,
Harriet--as if I couldn't pay money or not, just as I please."

"It isn't humbug, Mr. Stacy, but a question of benignant morality, which
it is every woman's duty to take up and hurl back, till she totters on
the brink, martyr-like, between heaven and earth! Don't you think so,
Mr. Hepworth?"

"Did you ever hear anything up to that?" exclaimed Stacy, swelling with
pompous satisfaction. "Harriet is the sort of woman that a man of
substance can depend on, morrerly, financierly, and--and--. Not that I'm
going to give in, you know; but it's satisfaction to know that your
money has lifted such a person into her proper spear."

"That's very kind of you, and I feel it, Stacy, dear; but when you speak
of lifting me up with _your_ money, who was it that owned the first five
hundred dollars you, or me, Mr. Stacy?"

"Harriet!"

"It's no use thundering out my baptismal name against me, Mr. Stacy, for
that's a thing I won't bear at no price! Truth is truth, Mr. Hepworth,
and rich as that man is, rolling over and over in gold, like a porpose
in salt water, it was my five hundred dollars that did it! Let him say
if I didn't own that much?"

"But didn't I marry you, and then didn't you own me? Would you set down
good looks, financial ability, and moral character A number one, at five
hundred dollars, and you--"

What was coming next Hepworth was destined never to learn, for Mrs.
Stacy, overcome by a fit of conjugal remorse, leaned forward and placed
one substantial hand in the flame-colored glove of her husband.

"Matthew, forgive me! I didn't