Stone dropped his wife's arm, which had lain somewhat rigidly in
his, and catching Gwynne firmly by the elbow, beat a rapid retreat.

"Good-night, darling!" he cried. "We're off to do the town." Throwing up
first one leg then the other in black silhouette against the stars, he
sang: "And we won't be home till morning, till morning--"

The voice drifted up from the corner of Taylor and Broadway, where the
two men waited for a car. "Till daylight doth appear."

Mrs. Paula was gasping. "Well, I never--never--" she exclaimed, as
Isabel hastily marshalled her up the stair and into the house. "I hope
they'll be garroted! That's all! But it's just like the selfish beasts
of men--"

"What difference does it make? Didn't Lyster agree to be host? It would
be too dismal for Gwynne to roam through the purlieus with a
policeman--and he cannot come down often. It's bedtime, anyhow."

"Bedtime?" cried Mrs. Paula. "Why, it's only ten o'clock. But I forgot
that you go to bed and get up with chickens."

"I should think you would be grateful to go to bed early, once in a
while."

"Oh, I often retire early enough, if it comes to that. It's listening
half the night--all, is more like it--for the last car, and then for a
hack galloping from side to side up that hill, as if the driver and the
very horses were drunk themselves. I tell you it's a life!"

"And don't you get used to it?" asked Isabel with curiosity. "You've
been married thirteen years, and I suppose Lyster has always been what
he calls an all-nighter."

"There are some things a wife never gets used to," replied Paula with
injured dignity, as she held out a doubting hand for the candle Isabel
had lighted. "Haven't you gas or electricity?"

"There is gas, but why take the trouble to light it? And the candle
recalls so many delightful evenings in England. I know no prettier
picture than a procession of long-trained women, with bare shoulders,
and jewels in their hair, each carrying a candle up a long stair beside
the central hall."

"Ah! I have no such charming reminiscences of the English aristocracy,
and I am only afraid of spilling candle grease on my one decent dress."

XXII

At four o'clock Isabel was awakened by suspicious sounds at the key-hole
of the front door. She reached out for her pistol, but withdrew her hand
as she heard the careless laugh of her brother-in-law. A few moments
later the two explorers, after an instant's hesitation at the head of