hree-o'clock luncheon. No one was within hearing.

"You understand my position now," he said.

"Oh, of course!" But she felt oddly chilled. Chris as the bereaved
husband and son-in-law was perfect, of course, almost too perfect. If
Wolf loved a woman----

But then the fancy of Wolf, married, and confessedly loving a woman who
was another man's wife, was absurd, anyway. Wolf did not belong to the
world where such things were common, it was utterly foreign to his
nature, with all the rest. Wolf did not go to operas and picture
galleries and polo matches; he did not know how to comport himself at
afternoon teas or summer lunches at the country club.

And Norma's life would be spent in this atmosphere now. She would get
her frocks from Madame Modiste, and her hats from the Avenue
specialists; she would be a smart and a conspicuous little figure at
Lenox and Bar Harbour and Newport; she would spend her days with
masseuses and dressmakers, and with French and Italian teachers. She
could travel, some day--but here the thought of Chris crept in, and she
was a little hurt at Chris. His exquisite poise, his sureness of being
absolutely correct, was one of his charms. But it was a little hard not
to have the depth of his present feeling for her sweep him off his feet
just occasionally. He had, indeed, shown her far more daring favour
when Alice was alive--meeting Norma down town, driving her about,
walking with her where they might reasonably fear to be seen now and
then.

It came to her painfully that, even there, Chris's respect for the
conventions of his world was not at fault. Flirtations, "crushes,"
"cases," and "suitors" were entirely acceptable in the circle that Chris
so conspicuously ornamented. To pay desperate attentions to a pretty
young married woman was quite excusable; it would have been universally
understood.

But to show the faintest trace of interest in her while his wife lay
dead, and while his house was plunged into mourning, no--Chris would not
do that. That would not be good form, it would be censured as not being
compatible with the standard of a gentleman. His conduct now must be
beyond criticism, he was the domestic dictator in this, as in every
emergency. Norma listened while he and Hendrick and Annie discussed the
funeral.

They were in the big upstairs bedroom that Annie had appropriated to
herself during these days. Annie was resting on a couch in a nest of
little pillows, her long bare hands