f,
and turned her face into the pillow, with a long wail of shame.

XVIII.

Mrs. Kenton's difficulties in setting her husband right were
indefinitely heightened by the suspicion that the most unsuspicious of
men fell into concerning Breckon. Did Breckon suppose that the matter
could be turned off in that way? he stupidly demanded; and when he was
extricated from this error by his wife's representation that Breckon
had not changed at all, but had never told Ellen that he wished to speak
with him of anything but his returning to his society, Kenton still
could not accept the fact. He would have contended that at least the
other matter must have been in Breckon's mind; and when he was beaten
from this position, and convinced that the meaning they had taken from
Ellen's words had never been in any mind but their own, he fell into
humiliation so abject that he could hide it only by the hauteur with
which he carried himself towards Breckon when they met at dinner. He
would scarcely speak to the young man; Ellen did not come to the
table; Lottie and Boyne and their friend Mr. Pogis were dining with the
Rasmiths, and Mrs. Kenton had to be, as she felt, cringingly kind to
Breckon in explaining just the sort of temporary headache that kept
her eldest daughter away. He was more than ordinarily sympathetic
and polite, but he was manifestly bewildered by Kenton's behavior. He
refused an hilarious invitation from Mrs. Rasmith, when he rose from
table, to stop and have his coffee with her on his way out of the
saloon. His old adorer explained that she had ordered a small bottle of
champagne in honor of its being the night before they were to get into
Boulogne, and that he ought to sit down and help her keep the young
people straight. Julia, she brokenly syllabled, with the gay beverage
bubbling back into her throat, was not the least use; she was worse than
any. Julia did not look it, in the demure regard which she bent upon her
amusing mother, and Breckon persisted in refusing. He said he thought
he might safely leave them to Boyne, and Mrs. Rasmith said into her
handkerchief, "Oh yes! Boyne!" and pressed Boyne's sleeve with her
knobbed and jewelled fingers.

It was evident where most of the small bottle had gone, but Breckon was
none the cheerfuller for the spectacle of Mrs. Rasmith. He could not
have a moment's doubt as to the sort of work he had been doing in New
York if she were an effect of it, and he turned his mind fr