le of the day before.

"What became of you, dear?" she asked. "I was waiting at Granny's, and
Ellen came alone, and said she had dropped you on the way because you
had to rush off on business. There's nothing wrong?"

"Only some letters I'd forgotten, and wanted to get off before dinner."

"Ah--" she said; and a moment afterward: "I'm sorry you didn't come to
Granny's--unless the letters were urgent."

"They were," he rejoined, surprised at her insistence. "Besides, I
don't see why I should have gone to your grandmother's. I didn't know
you were there."

She turned and moved to the looking-glass above the mantel-piece. As
she stood there, lifting her long arm to fasten a puff that had slipped
from its place in her intricate hair, Archer was struck by something
languid and inelastic in her attitude, and wondered if the deadly
monotony of their lives had laid its weight on her also. Then he
remembered that, as he had left the house that morning, she had called
over the stairs that she would meet him at her grandmother's so that
they might drive home together. He had called back a cheery "Yes!" and
then, absorbed in other visions, had forgotten his promise. Now he was
smitten with compunction, yet irritated that so trifling an omission
should be stored up against him after nearly two years of marriage. He
was weary of living in a perpetual tepid honeymoon, without the
temperature of passion yet with all its exactions. If May had spoken
out her grievances (he suspected her of many) he might have laughed
them away; but she was trained to conceal imaginary wounds under a
Spartan smile.

To disguise his own annoyance he asked how her grandmother was, and she
answered that Mrs. Mingott was still improving, but had been rather
disturbed by the last news about the Beauforts.

"What news?"

"It seems they're going to stay in New York. I believe he's going into
an insurance business, or something. They're looking about for a small
house."

The preposterousness of the case was beyond discussion, and they went
in to dinner. During dinner their talk moved in its usual limited
circle; but Archer noticed that his wife made no allusion to Madame
Olenska, nor to old Catherine's reception of her. He was thankful for
the fact, yet felt it to be vaguely ominous.

They went up to the library for coffee, and Archer lit a cigar and took
down a volume of Michelet. He had taken to history in the evenings
since May had