roubled him so little with herself, that
nearly always he forgot her. Whenever there was any public function to
which they were bidden he always told her apologetically, as though it
must be as much of a bore to her as to him, and he regretted that it was
necessary to go in order to carry out their mutual agreement. Marcia,
hailing with delight every chance to go out in search of something which
would keep her from thinking the new thoughts which had come to her,
demurely covered her pleasure and dressed herself dutifully in the robes
made for her sister, hating them secretly the while, and was always ready
when he came for her. David had nothing to complain of in his wife, so far
as outward duty was concerned, but he was too busy with his own heart's
bitterness to even recognize it.

One afternoon, of a day when David had gone out of town not expecting to
return until late in the evening, there came a knock at the door.

There was something womanish in the knock, Marcia thought, as she hastened
to answer it, and she wondered, hurriedly smoothing her shining hair, if
it could be the aunts come to make their fortnightly-afternoon penance
visit. She gave a hasty glance into the parlor hoping all was right, and
was relieved to make sure she had closed the piano. The aunts would
consider it a great breach of housewifely decorum to allow a moment's dust
to settle upon its sacred keys.

But it was not the aunts who stood upon the stoop, smiling and bowing with
a handsome assurance of his own welcome. It was Harry Temple.

Marcia was not glad to see him. A sudden feeling of unreasoning alarm took
possession of her.

"You're all alone this time, sweet lady, aren't you?" he asked with easy
nonchalance, as he lounged into the hall without waiting her bidding.

"Sir!" said Marcia, half frightened, half wondering.

But he smiled reassuringly down upon her and took the door knob in his own
hands to close the door.

"Your good man is out this time, isn't he?" he smiled again most
delightfully. His face was very handsome when he smiled. He knew this fact
well.

Marcia did not smile. Why did he speak as if he knew where David was, and
seemed to be pleased that he was away?

"My husband is not in at present," she said guardedly, her innocent eyes
searching his face, "did you wish to see him?"

She was beautiful as she stood there in the wide hall, with only the light
from the high transom over the door, shedding an afternoon