he could no
longer enjoy alone, and which, on the other hand, it was quite
impossible for him to share with any one else. He was no longer to be
alone.

Stuart stirred uneasily in his chair and poked at the fire before him.

"Do you remember the day you came to see me," said the Picture,
sentimentally, "and built the fire yourself and lighted some girl's
letters to make it burn?"

"Yes," said Stuart, "that is, I _said_ that they were some girl's
letters. It made it more picturesque. I am afraid they were bills. I
should say I did remember it," he continued, enthusiastically. "You wore
a black dress and little red slippers with big black rosettes, and you
looked as beautiful as--as night--as a moonlight night."

The Picture frowned slightly.

"You are always telling me about how I looked," she complained; "can't
you remember any time when we were together without remembering what I
had on and how I appeared?"

"I cannot," said Stuart, promptly. "I can recall lots of other things
besides, but I can't forget how you looked. You have a fashion of
emphasizing episodes in that way which is entirely your own. But, as I
say, I can remember something else. Do you remember, for instance, when
we went up to West Point on that yacht? Wasn't it a grand day, with the
autumn leaves on both sides of the Hudson, and the dress parade, and the
dance afterward at the hotel?"

"Yes, I should think I did," said the Picture, smiling. "You spent all
your time examining cannon, and talking to the men about 'firing in
open order,' and left me all alone."

"Left you all alone! I like that," laughed Stuart; "all alone with about
eighteen officers."

"Well, but that was natural," returned the Picture. "They were men. It's
natural for a girl to talk to men, but why should a man want to talk to
men?"

"Well, I know better than that now," said Stuart.

He proceeded to show that he knew better by remaining silent for the
next half hour, during which time he continued to wonder whether this
effort to keep up a conversation was not radically wrong. He thought of
several things he might say, but he argued that it was an impossible
situation where a man had to make conversation with his own wife.

The clock struck ten as he sat waiting, and he moved uneasily in his
chair.

"What is it?" asked the Picture; "what makes you so restless?"

Stuart regarded the Picture timidly for a moment before he spoke. "I was
just thinking," he said, doubt