n cold and biting
tones.

"Geoffrey, I wish to speak to you. You are entitled to your own
opinions, but the next time that you find them in opposition to mine I
should be obliged if you would reserve your remarks until we are alone.
If you have no consideration for me, you might at least consider your
guests; it cannot be agreeable for them to overhear our differences."

Geoffrey did not move. He stood with his hands thrust deep into his
pockets, his head drooping forward on his breast, an air of weariness
and depression in every line of his figure. For a minute there was
silence, then he spoke, slowly, and with frequent breaks, as though
considering each word as it came--

"That is true.--I was to blame.--I should have waited, as you say.--It
shall not occur again, Joan. I apologise."

Esmeralda looked at him. The fire died from her eyes, her lips
trembled. Quick to anger, she was equally quick to penitence, and a
soft word could melt her hardest mood. She made a very lovely picture
at that moment, but her husband's back was still turned. He kept his
head rigorously turned aside as he crossed to his desk and seated
himself on his swivel chair.

"I have ordered the car for eleven, as you wished."

"Thank you."

Joan knew herself to be dismissed, but she had no intention of obeying.
For her impetuous nature half-measures did not exist, and a peace that
was not peace with honour seemed unworthy the name. She leaned over her
husband's desk, facing him with earnest eyes.

"Geoffrey! Why were you so cross? It was unreasonable. I shall do
quite well at my stall. People are sick to death of cushions and
cosies, but they will snap at my beautiful things from abroad, which
they don't often have a chance of buying."

"I am sure of it."

"Then why--why--? What on earth put you into such a bait?"

Geoffrey put down his pen and drew a long sigh. It was easy to see that
he dreaded a discussion, and was most unwillingly drawn into its toils.

"Since you ask me, Joan, I was disappointed that you had taken so little
personal trouble over the affair. I could have given the money easily
enough; when I refused I was thinking more of you than of any one else.
I hoped this bazaar might be the means of taking you out of yourself, of
bringing you in contact with people whose lives are not altogether given
up to self-indulgence. Your one idea seems to have been to avoid such a
course."

"You would have liked me