t" which--according to "When the Honeymoon
Wanes"--was at the root of all her misery. Already she thought she
detected in Bertram's voice signs that he was beginning to chafe against
those "bonds." "It is a matter of--of the utmost indifference to me what
time you come home at night, my dear," she finished airily, as she sat
down to her work again.

Bertram stared; then he frowned, turned on his heel and left the room.
Bertram, who knew nothing of the "Talk to Young Wives" in the newspaper
at Billy's feet, was surprised, puzzled, and just a bit angry.

Billy, left alone, jabbed her pen with such force against her paper that
the note she was making became an unsightly blot.

"Well, if this is what that man calls being 'comfortably indifferent,'
I'd hate to try the _un_comfortable kind," she muttered with emphasis.

CHAPTER IX. THE DINNER BILLY TRIED TO GET

Notwithstanding what Billy was disposed to regard as the non-success
of her first attempt to profit by the "Talk to Young Wives;" she still
frantically tried to avert the waning of her honeymoon. Assiduously she
cultivated the prescribed "indifference," and with at least apparent
enthusiasm she sought the much-to-be-desired "outside interests." That
is, she did all this when she thought of it when something reminded her
of the sword of destruction hanging over her happiness. At other times,
when she was just being happy without question, she was her old self
impulsive, affectionate, and altogether adorable.

Naturally, under these circumstances, her conduct was somewhat erratic.
For three days, perhaps, she would fly to the door at her husband's
ring, and hang upon his every movement. Then, for the next three,
she would be a veritable will-o'-the-wisp for elusiveness, caring,
apparently, not one whit whether her husband came or went until poor
Bertram, at his wit's end, scourged himself with a merciless catechism
as to what he had done to vex her. Then, perhaps, just when he had
nerved himself almost to the point of asking her what was the trouble,
there would come another change, bringing back to him the old Billy,
joyous, winsome, and devoted, plainly caring nothing for anybody or
anything but himself. Scarcely, however, would he become sure that it
was his Billy back again before she was off once more, quite beyond his
reach, singing with Arkwright and Alice Greggory, playing with Tommy
Dunn, plunging into some club or church work--anything but being w