I demand that, as long as you're in my house--"

He was interrupted by the cold voice of his wife. She did not turn her
eyes from their dreamy contemplation of the ceiling, nor did she alter
in any way the languor of her posture, the indifference of her manner.
But, somehow, the quality in her voice was insistent, and the gentle,
musical tone broke on his delivery with a subtle force sufficient to
halt it against his will.

"You can't demand," Cicily said, evenly. "We stopped that relationship
three weeks ago."

"It is true," Hamilton answered, more quietly, "that you've refused to
live with me as my wife. But, if you are to remain in my house, I must
insist that you keep out of meddling with my business affairs.
Otherwise, I shall be forced--"

Again, the softly spoken words from his wife's lips held a spell that
checked his own, and compelled him to listen grudgingly.

"You cannot force me, Charles--for the simple reason that I won't leave.
No, indeed! I am quite certain that when you think things over in a
saner mood, you will be convinced of the fact that just at this time it
would be highly inadvisable for you to complicate your affairs further
by a public scandal. So, I tell you that I sha'n't go. I shall stay here
until you are out of this mess. Since I feel that to be my duty, I shall
do it!"

"Oh, Lord, if you were a man--!" Hamilton choked helplessly.

"If I were a man," was the placid conclusion offered by Cicily, "I
suppose I'd sit still, and do nothing, like you. But I'm not a man,
thank Heaven!... The only pity is, you won't take my perfectly good
advice."

"Your advice--oh, the devil!" Hamilton sprang from his chair. His face
was distraught, as he stood for a moment staring in baffled anger at his
wife, who still held her eyes meditatively content on the ceiling. He
clenched his hands fiercely, and shook them in impotent fury. "Your
advice!" he repeated, in a voice that was nigh moaning. Then, he whirled
about, and strode from the room, trampling heavily.

Cicily listened until she heard the door of the library slam noisily. In
the interval, she retained her attitude of consummate ease. But, with
the sound of the closing door, she was suddenly metamorphosed. Her eyes
drooped wearily. She cowered within the chair as one stricken with a
vertigo. The slender hands unclasped from behind her head, and shut
themselves over her face. Her form was bowed together, and shaken
violently. There came the so