over a trivial difference just to relieve
routine. The domestic low-lands stretched beyond the eye. He missed
the broken country, the unexpected dips and curves of the unknown.
Not that his heart went adventuring. He was faithful in body and
spirit, but there was discontent in the looks he turned on her.

One afternoon she read in the papers that David Cannon and Frances
Maury were back from South America after a triumphant series of
recitals. They were to give a concert the following month. Her
indifference to the news, she thought drearily, was an indication of
how far she had travelled away from her old life. She did not even
want to see David Cannon.

It was Oliver who brought up the subject that evening.

"David's back. If you'd been with him, how excited I should have
felt to-day!" he remarked. "Odd, isn't it?"

"You would have been in France," she reminded him.

They sat on in silence for a while.

He laid his book aside with a sudden brisk movement.

"Myra, why don't you sing again?"

"For you, to-night?"

"I mean professionally," he blurted out.

She drifted across the room to a shadowy corner.

"I don't know," she said rather flatly, bending over a bowl of white
roses. "I suppose I don't feel like it any more. It's hard to take
things up again."

He fingered his book; then, as if despite himself, he said;

"I'm afraid, dear, that we're letting ourselves grow old."

She swung sharply about, catching her breath.

"You mean I am?"

"Both of us." He was cautious, tender even, but she was not deceived.
It was almost a relief that he had spoken.

"Tell me, dear," she said from her corner. "You're bored, aren't you?
Oh, not with me"--she forestalled his protest--"but just plain bored.
Isn't it so?" Her voice was deceptively quiet.

He stirred in his chair, fidgeted under the direct attack, and
decided not to evade it.

"I think we've been buried long enough," he finally confessed.
"I love our evenings together, of course; but a little change now
and then might be agreeable. Perhaps it isn't a good thing for two
people to be thrown entirely on each other's company. And I've been
wondering, dear"--he hesitated, carefully picking his words--
"I've been wondering if you would not be happier if you had other
interests--interests of your own."

"Suppose I don't want any?" She did not give this out as a challenge,
but he frowned a trifle impatiently.

"I can't believe it possible," he said. "Have