a week had gone by when Edith says to me again,
'We're dining with Laura and Hal to-night.' Well, and we dine. Young Sloane
is not a bad sort of a chap--works hard downtown and worships his wife. The
way he lives--well, it isn't mine--and mine isn't his--and we both let it
go at that. But the women can't, they haven't it in 'em. Each sits with her
way of life in her lap. You can't see it over the tablecloth, but, my God,
how you feel it! The worst of it is," he ended, "that after one of these
terrible meals each woman is more set than before in her own way of living.
Not that I don't like Edith's way," her husband added hastily.

Edith also disapproved of the fast increasing publicity which Deborah was
getting.

"I may be very old-fashioned," she remarked to her father, "but I can't get
used to this idea that a woman's place is in headlines. And I think it's
rather hard on you--the use she's making of your house."

One Friday night when she came to play chess, she found her father in the
midst of a boisterous special meeting of his club of Italian boys. It had
been postponed from the evening before. And though Roger, overcome with
dismay at having forgotten Edith's night, apologized profusely, the
time-honored weekly game took place no more from that day on.

"Edith's pretty sore," said Bruce, who dropped in soon afterwards. "She
says Deborah has made your house into an annex to her school."

Roger smoked in silence. His whole family was about his ears.

"My boy," he muttered earnestly, "you and I must stick together."

"We sure must," agreed his son-in-law. "And what's more, if we're to keep
the peace, we've got to try to put some punch into Deborah's so-called love
affair. She ought to get married and settle down."

"Yes," said Roger, dubiously. "Only let's keep it to ourselves."

"No chance of that," was the cheerful reply. "You can't keep Edith out of
it. It would only make trouble in _my_ family." Roger gave him a pitying
look and said,

"Then, for the Lord's sake, let her in!"

So they took Edith into their councils, and she gave them an indulgent
smile.

"Suppose you leave this to me," she commanded. "Don't you think I've been
using my eyes? There's no earthly use in stepping in now, for Deborah has
lost her head. She sees herself a great new woman with a career. But wait
till the present flare-up subsides, till the newspapers all drop her and
she is thoroughly tired out. Until then, remember, we keep