"I go to the Coliseum."

Claude's next question slipped out with the daring simplicity he knew
how to employ. "Do you go on particular days?"

"I generally go on Tuesdays." If she was moved by an afterthought it was
without flurry or apparent sense of having committed an indiscretion.
"Not every Tuesday," she said, quietly, and dropped the subject there.

When, a few minutes later, she was resting on a rug thrown down on the
steps, with Claude posed gracefully by her side, Archie Masterman found
the opportunity to stroll near enough to his wife to say in an
undertone, "Do you see Claude?"

Ena's answer was no more than a flutter of the eyelids, but a flutter of
the eyelids quite sufficient to take in the summing up of significant,
unutterable things in her husband's face.

CHAPTER XIX

By the time Thor and Lois had returned from their honeymoon in early May
the line of battle in Claude's soul had been extended. The Claude who
might be was fighting hard to get the better of the Claude who was. It
was, nevertheless, the Claude who was that spoke in response to the
elder brother's timid inquiry concerning the situation as it affected
Rosie Fay. Hardly knowing how to frame his question, Thor had put it
awkwardly.

"Done anything yet?"

"No."

In the little smoking-room that had been Len's and was now Thor's--Mr.
and Mrs. Willoughby having retired already to their _petit trou pas
cher_--they puffed at their cigars in silence. It had been the wish of
both bride and bridegroom that Claude should dine with them on their
second evening at home. Thor had man[oe]uvered for these few minutes
alone with his brother in order to get the information he was now
seeking. For his own assurance there were things he needed to know. He
wanted to feel convinced that he hadn't acted hastily, that in marrying
he had made no mistake. There would be proof of that when he saw that
Claude and Rosie had found their happiness in each other, and that in
what he himself had done--there had been no other way! He wished that
Uncle Sim's pietistic refrain wouldn't hum so persistently in his
memory: "Oh, tarry thou the Lord's leisure!" He didn't believe in a
Lord's leisure; but neither did he want to be afraid of his own haste.
He had grown so self-conscious on the subject that it took courage for
him to say:

"Isn't it getting to be about time?"

Claude drew the cigar from his lips and stared obliquely. "Look here,
old chap; I thou