not make him understanding
and considerate; it made him boyishly dominant and demanding.

"Well, old girl"--Rivers had slammed the door after him--"sitting up
for me, eh? Sorry; but when I didn't find you here, I had to get over
and see Maclin. Devilish important, big pull I've made this time.
We'll have a spree--go to the city, if you like--have a real bat."

Mary-Clare did not have time to move or speak; Larry was crushing her
against him and kissing her face--not as a man kisses a woman he
loves, but as he might kiss any woman. The silence and rigidity of
Mary-Clare presently made themselves felt. Larry pushed her away
almost angrily.

"Mad, eh?" he asked with a suggestion of triumph in his voice. "Acting
up because I ran off to Maclin? Well, I had to see him. I tried to get
home sooner, but you know how Maclin is when he gets talking."

How long Larry would have kept on it would have been hard to tell, but
he suddenly looked full at Mary-Clare and--stopped!

The expression on the face confronting his was puzzling: it looked
amused, not angry. Now there is one thing a man of Larry's type cannot
bear with equanimity and that is to have his high moments dashed. He
saw that he was not impressing Mary-Clare; he saw that he was
mistaking her attitude of mind concerning his treatment of her--in
short, she did not care!

"What are you laughing at?" he asked.

"I'm not laughing, Larry."

"What are you smiling at?"

"My smile is my own, Larry; when I laugh it's different."

"Trying to be smart, eh? I should think when your husband's been away
months and has just got back, you'd meet him with something besides a
grin."

There was some justice in this and Mary-Clare said slowly: "I'm sorry,
Larry. I really was only thinking."

Now that she was face to face with her big moment, Mary-Clare realized
anew how difficult her task was. Often, in the past, thinking of
Larry when he was not with her, it had seemed possible to reason with
him; to bring truth to him and implore his help. Always she had
striven to cling to her image of Larry, but never to the real man. The
man she had constructed with Larry off the scene was quite another
creature from Larry in the flesh. This knowledge was humiliating now
in the blazing light of reality grimly faced and it taxed all of
Mary-Clare's courage. She was smiling sadly, smiling at her own
inability in the past to deal with facts.

Larry was brought to bay. He was disappointed, a