ty, they were long on the odor of
musk.

"I always keep dried rose leaves in my bureau drawers," Eleanor said;
and he had the presence of mind to say, "You are a rose yourself!"

A husband's "presence of mind" in addressing his wife is, of course, a
confession; it means they are not one--for nobody makes pretty speeches
to oneself! However, Maurice's "rose" made no such deduction.

CHAPTER IX

It was after Mr. Houghton had swallowed the scorched soup and meditated
infanticide, that boarding became inevitable. Several times that winter
Maurice said that Hannah "was the limit; so let's board?"

And toward spring, in spite of the cavorting lambs and waddling ducks in
the little waiting, empty room upstairs, Eleanor yielded. "We can go to
housekeeping again," she thought, "_if_--"

So the third year of their marriage opened in a boarding house. They
moved (Bingo again banished to Mrs. O'Brien), on their wedding
anniversary, and instead of celebrating by going out to "their river,"
they spent a hot, grimy day settling down in their third-floor front.

"If people come to see us," said Maurice, ruefully, standing with his
hands in his pockets surveying their new quarters, "they'll have to sit
on the piano!"

"Nobody'll come," Eleanor said.

Maurice's eyes narrowed: "I believe you need 'em, Nelly? I knock up
against people at the office, and I know several fellows and girls
outside--"

"What girls?"

"Oh, the fellows' sisters; but you--"

"I don't want anybody but you!"

Maurice was silent. Two years ago, when Eleanor had said almost the same
thing: she was willing to live on a desert island, _with him_!--it had
been oil on the flames of his love; now, it puzzled him. He didn't want
to live on a desert island, with anybody! He needed more than one man
"Friday," and any women "Thursdays" who might come along were joyously
welcomed. "I am a social beggar, myself," he said; and began to whistle
and fuss about, trying to bring order out of a chaos of books and
photographs and sheet music. She sat watching him--the alert, vigorous
figure; the keen face under the shock of blond hair; the blue eyes that
crinkled so easily into laughter. Her face was thinner, and there were
rings of fatigue under her dark eyes, and that little nursery in the
house they had left, made a swelling sense of emptiness in her heart.
("If I see any awfully pretty nursery paper this winter, I'll buy it,
and have it ready,--_in case_ we