"Ben and I might have guessed you would do the wise thing.
When men rush hot-footed into the affairs of women, they are apt to
play the fool."

"Is there any reason why I shouldn't go?" she demanded, anxiously.

"On the contrary, every reason why you should; but I feared some
mistaken idea about expense or Simeon's approbation might interfere
with your taking a holiday, which you will enjoy as much as he enjoys
digging up roots in Patagonia."

Deena considered the two points of his answer--expense and Simeon's
approbation--and replied thoughtfully:

"My husband would recognize so simple a duty, and, as far as expense
goes, I am a perfectly independent woman. Didn't you know _our_
story--the one you made me rewrite--sold at once, and, besides that, I
have placed a number of fugitive poems? So I snap my fingers at
expenses till the bank breaks," and she tapped her forehead to
indicate from whence the supply flowed.

"Then make the most of the sensation while it lasts," he said, with
good-natured cynicism, "for expenses have a way of sizing you
up--cleaning out your pockets--and going you one better! If you are
still snapping your fingers when you come back from New York, then,
indeed, you may boast."

A troubled look came into her face.

"Simeon would like me to go to Polly when she is out of health and
needs me," she said, in a tone she meant to be assertive, but which
was only appealing, "and if we are careful about spending, it is
because we are proud and do not wish to incur obligations."

The _we_ was a masterpiece of loyalty, and French was suitably
impressed by it.

"Dear Mrs. Ponsonby," he said, "you speak as if _I_ were likely to
misjudge Simeon, whereas my object in coming here was to prevent
_your_ misjudging him by allowing your sensitive conscience to forbid
pleasures he would be the first to suggest."

The speech was genuine; in Stephen's estimation his friend had noble
qualities, and in bearing testimony to them he was beginning his
chapter of self-discipline. In this interview, at least, he had
preserved a conscience void of offense, and he hastened to say
goodnight before any temptation should assail his discretion. Perhaps,
also--for he was but mortal--the reflection in the parlor mirror of
what was passing in the hall may have accelerated his departure.

For the benefit of an admiring gallery at the head of the stairs,
Master Shelton was performing jugglers' tricks with their visitor's
be