y. "Don't worry
about me, please," said he in the kindest, friendliest way. "I am
telling you the truth."

And they descended to the dining room. Usually he was preoccupied and
she did most of the talking--not a difficult matter for her, as she was
one of those who by nature have much to say, who talk on and on, giving
lively, pleasant recitals of commonplace daily happenings. That evening
it was her turn to be abstracted, or, at least, silent. He talked
volubly, torrentially, like a man of teeming mind in the highest
spirits. And he was in high spirits. The Galloway enterprise had
developed into a huge success; also, it did not lessen his sense of the
pleasantness of life to have learned that his wife was feeling about as
well disposed toward him as he cared to have her feel, had come round to
that state of mind which he, as a practical man, wise in the art of
life, regarded as ideal for a wife.

A successful man, with a quiet and comfortable home, well enough looked
after by an agreeable wife, exceeding good to look at and interested
only in her home and her husband--what more could a man ask?

* * * * *

What more could a man ask? Only one thing more--a baby. The months soon
passed and that rounding out of the home side of his life was
consummated with no mishap. The baby was a girl, which contented him and
delighted Dorothy. He wished it to be named after her, she preferred his
sister's name--Ursula. It was Ursula who decided the question. "She
looks like you, Fred," she declared, after an earnest scanning of the
weird little face. "Why not call her Frederica?"

Norman thought this clumsy, but Dorothy instantly assented--and the baby
was duly christened Frederica.

Perhaps it was because he was having less pressing business in town, but
whatever the reason, he began to stay at home more--surprisingly more.
And, being at home, he naturally fell into the habit of fussing with the
baby, he having the temperament that compels a man to be always at
something, and the baby being convenient and in the nature of a
curiosity. Ursula, who was stopping in the house, did not try to conceal
her amazement at this extraordinary development of her brother's
character.

Said she: "I never before knew you to take the slightest interest in a
child."

Said he: "I never before saw a child worth taking the slightest interest
in."

"Oh, well," said Ursula, "it won't last. You'll soon grow tired o