hough that man were
her husband, seemed to her immoral. She would plainly and directly ask
him to pay the money, and there was the end of it. She opened the
front door and went in.

The Ponsonby house was two stories high, built of wood and set a
little back from the street, with flower beds bordering the path to
the gate and neat grass plots on either side. Within, a small parlor
and dining room on the right of the hall, and to the left a spacious
study; behind that was the kitchen.

The door of the study was half open, and Simeon sat at his desk
reading proof; one of his many contributions to a scientific
periodical, and, judging by the pile of galley sheets, an important
article. He had a way of pursing his lips and glaring through his
spectacles when he read that gave him a look of preternatural wisdom.
He was never what Deena's cook called "a pretty man."

Mrs. Ponsonby's slim figure slid through the opening without pushing
the door wide, and spoke with a kind of reckless gayety.

"Good-evening, Simeon," she said, making a little courtesy; "you see,
I have returned safely, 'clothed and in my right mind.'"

He made a marginal note of cabalistic import before he swung round in
his chair and looked at her over his spectacles.

"Hardly in your right mind, I should think," he said, coldly.

"Don't you like me in my new clothes?" she asked, twirling slowly
round to give him the entire effect of her costume.

He was apt to be irritable when disturbed at his work, and Deena had
not attached much importance to his speech.

"I think," he said, curtly, "you look like a woman on a poster, and
not a reputable woman at that."

"That is hardly a nice thing to say of one's wife----" she began, when
he interrupted her.

"Look here, Deena, I have work to do before tea, and the discussion of
your appearance is hardly important enough to keep publishers waiting.
Oblige me by taking off that dress before I see you again. Where did
you get it--if I may ask?"

"Polly gave it to me," she answered, and was astonished to find a lump
in her throat, a sudden desire to burst into tears.

"Then Polly was guilty of an impertinence you should have resented
instead of accepting. Ben Minthrop's money may dress his own wife, but
not mine. Let it go for this time, but never again subject me to such
an indignity."

"But she didn't give me the hat, Simeon," said poor Deena, who knew it
was now or never.

"And who furnished you with