big brain."

Often she would bring a gift for Mary in her surface generous
fashion--a box of candy or a little silk handkerchief. She pitied Mary
as all butterflies pity all ants, and she little knew that as soon as
she had departed Mary would open the window to let fresh air drive out
distracting perfume, and would look at the useless trifle on her desk
with scornful amusement.

Before the New York trip Steve took refuge in his first deliberate lie
to his wife. He had lied to himself throughout his courtship but was
most innocent of the offence.

"If Mrs. O'Valley telephones or calls please say I have gone out to
the stockyards," he told Mary. "And will you lend me your office for
the afternoon? I'm so rushed I must be alone where I can work without
interruption."

Mary gathered up her papers. "I'll keep you under cover." She was
smiling.

"What's the joke?"

"I was thinking of how very busy idle people always are and of how
much time busy people always manage to make for the idle people's
demands."

He did not answer until he had collected his work materials. Then he
said: "I should like to know just what these idle people do with
themselves but I shall never have the time to find out." He vanished
into Mary's office, banging the door.

Beatrice telephoned that afternoon, only to be given her husband's
message.

"I'll drive out to the stockyards and get him," she proposed.

"He went with some men and I don't believe I'd try it if I were you,"
Mary floundered.

"I see. Well, have him call me up as soon as he comes in. It is very
important."

When Steve reached home that night he found Beatrice in a well-developed
pout.

"Didn't you get my message?" she demanded, sharply.

"Just as I was leaving the office. I looked in there on--on my way
back. I saw no use in telephoning then. What is it, dear?"

"It's too late now. You have ruined my day."

"Sorry. What is too late?"

"I wanted you to go to Amityville with me; there is a wonderful
astrologer there who casts life horoscopes. He predicted this whole
war and the Bolsheviki and bombs and everything, and I wanted him to
do ours. Alice Twill says he is positively uncanny."

Steve shook his head. "No long-haired cocoanut throwers for mine," he
said, briefly, unfolding his paper.

"But I wanted you to go."

"Well, I do not approve of such things; they are a waste of time and
money."

"I have my own money," she informed him, curtly.

Steve laid