spirits be anything but high, with her
sitting there opposite me, mine, mine for better or for worse, through
good and evil report--my wife!

She was only formally responsive, reluctant and brief in answers,
volunteering nothing. The servants waiting on us no doubt laid her
manner to shyness; I understood it, or thought I did--but I was not
troubled. It is as natural for me to hope as to breathe; and with my
knowledge of character, how could I take seriously the moods and
impulses of one whom I regarded as a childlike girl, trained in false
pride and false ideals? "She has chosen to stay with me," said I to
myself. "Actions count, not words or manner. A few days or weeks, and
she will be herself, and mine." And I went gayly on with my efforts to
interest her, to make her smile and forget the role she had commanded
herself to play. Nor was I wholly unsuccessful. Again and again I
thought I saw a gleam of interest in her eyes or the beginnings of a
smile about that sweet mouth of hers. I was careful not to overdo my
part. As soon as we finished dessert I said: "You loathe cigar smoke,
so I'll hide myself in my den. Sanders will bring you the cigarettes."
I had myself telephoned for a supply of her kind early in the day.

She made a polite protest for the benefit of the servants; but I was
firm, and she was free to think things over alone in the drawing
room--"your sitting room," I called it now. I had not finished a small
cigar when there came a timid knock at my door. I threw away the cigar
and opened. "I thought it was you," said I. "I'm familiar with the
knocks of all the others. And this was new--like a summer wind tapping
with a flower for admission at a closed window." And I laughed with a
little raillery, and she smiled, colored, tried to seem cold and
hostile again.

"Shall I go with you to your sitting room?" I went on. "Perhaps the
cigar smoke here----"

"No, no," she interrupted; "I don't really mind cigars--and the
windows are wide open. Besides, I came for only a moment--just to
say----"

As she cast about for words to carry her on, I drew up a chair for
her. She looked at it uncertainly, seated herself. "When mamma was
here--this afternoon," she went on, "she was urging me to--to do what
she wished. And after she had used several arguments, without changing
me--she said something I--I've been thinking it over, and it seemed I
ought in fairness to tell you."

I waited.

"She said: 'In a few days mo