nsity of purpose in the glow of the golden eyes, as they met
those of her husband; there was intensity of conviction in the tones of
her voice as she uttered the assurance. She realized that the crisis of
her ambition was very near at hand.

"You can do nothing." The man's blunt statement was uttered with a
conviction as uncompromising as her own. The egotism of it repelled the
woman. There was a hint of menace in her manner, as she replied:

"Take care, Charles. Don't shut me out. You're making a plaything of
me--not a wife.... And I--I won't be your plaything!"

"You mean--?"

"I mean," went on the wife relentlessly, "that this is the most serious
moment of our married life. If you put me off now, if you shut me out of
your life now--out of your full life--I can't answer for what will
happen."

There followed a long interval of silence, the while husband and wife
stared each into the other's eyes. In these moments of poignant emotion,
the profound feeling of the woman penetrated the being of the man,
readied his heart, and touched it to sympathy--more: it mounted to his
brain, which it stimulated to some measure of understanding. That
understanding was fleeting enough, it was vague and incomplete, as must
always be man's inadequate knowledge of woman. But it was dominant for
the time being. Under its sway, Hamilton spoke in gracious yielding,
almost gratefully.

"Very well. You can help."

The young wife sat silent for a time, thrilling with the joy of
conquest. The roses of her checks blossomed again; the radiance of her
eyes grew tender; the scarlet lips wreathed in their happiest curves. At
last, she rose swiftly, and seated herself on the arm of her husband's
chair. She wound her arms about his neck, and kissed him fondly on cheek
and brow and mouth.

Hamilton accepted these caresses with the pleasure of a fond bridegroom
of a year, and, too, with a certain complacency as the tribute of
gratitude to his generosity. But, when she separated herself again from
his embrace, he was moved to ask a question that was calculated to be
somewhat disconcerting.

"What can you do?" he demanded.

"Oh, I don't know," Cicily answered, nonchalantly; "but something. I
shall do something big! You see, you've done so much. Now, I must do
something too--something big!"

[Illustration]

"But what have I done?" the husband questioned, perplexed anew by this
charming wife of many moods.

"What have you done?" Cicily rep