ing the other's look, she arose from the neglected
dinner-table decisively and, the man following slowly, led the way to the
living-room. "Joking aside," she continued as she dropped into a
convenient seat, "I mean it, seriously. I've felt this way for a long
time, and to-day has been the climax. I simply won't spend my life
cooking and dusting and--and washing dishes. Life's too short."

From out the depths of the big davenport Harry Randall inspected steadily
the rebellious little woman opposite. He did not answer at once, it was
not his way; but he was thinking seriously. To say that the present
moment was a surprise would be false. For long, straws had indicated the
trend of the wind, and he was not blind. There was an excuse for the
attitude, too. He was just enough to realize that. As she had said, she
was born differently, bred differently, educated to a life of ease. And
he, Harry Randall, had known it from the first, knew it when he married
her. Just now, to be sure, he was financially flat, several months ahead
of his meagre salary; but that did not alter the original premise, the
original obligation. He remembered this now as he looked at her,
remembered and decided--the only way it seemed to him possible an
honorable man could decide.

"Very well, Margery," he said gravely, "you may have the maid back, of
course, if you wish it. I had hoped we might get along for a time, while
we were paying for the things in the house, anyway; but"--he looked
away--"I guess we'll manage it somehow."

"Somehow!" Margery glanced at him with only partial comprehension. "Is it
really as bad as that, as hopeless?"

Randall smiled the slow smile that made his smooth face seem fairly
boyish.

"I don't know exactly what you mean by bad, or hopeless; but it's a fact
that so far we've been spending a good deal more than my income."

"I'm sorry, dear, really." It was the contrition of one absolutely
unaccustomed to consideration of ways and means, uncomprehending.
"Particularly so just now with winter coming on and--and girls, you
know, have to get such a lot of things for winter."

This time Randall did not smile; neither did he show irritation.

"What, for instance?" he inquired directly.

"Oh, a tailored suit for one thing, and a winter hat, and high shoes,
and--and a lot of things."

"Do you really need them, Margery?" It was prosaic pathos, but pathos
nevertheless. "There's coal to be bought, you know, and my life insu