way and the first anniversary drew near.
"She eats as much candy in a week as an orphan asylum on Christmas
Day. Why doesn't someone tell her to stop?"

Gay felt rather kindly toward Beatrice, for his commissions from
the villa transformation made him secure for some time to come;
Alice Twill's idea of a French chateau, however, had blown up
unexpectedly.

"Well, why don't people tell you that you look an utter fool with that
extra-intelligent edition of tortoise-shell glasses that you wear?"
Trudy retorted. Gay was her husband and her property as long as she
saw fit to stay his wife, and she did not approve of his constant
attendance on the Gorgeous Girl. Even her deliberate retaliation by
flirting with the gouty-toe brigade did not make amends. She had
moments of depression similar to the time she had learned Mary's
secret. But she did not go back to Mary in the same abandoned spirit.
It would never do. If she were not careful she would begin to think
for herself and want to take to sensible shoes and a real job, hating
herself so utterly that she could never have any more good times. So
she saw Mary only at intervals and tried to do nice trifles for her.
Trudy was thinner than ever and she had an annoying cough. She still
used a can opener as an aide-de-camp in housekeeping and laughed at
snow flurries in her low shoes and gauze-like draperies.

It delighted her to have Beatrice become heavy of figure--it almost
gave her a hold on her, she fancied--for Beatrice sighed with envy at
Trudy's one hundred and ten pounds and used Trudy as an argument for
eating candy.

"Trudy eats candy, lots of it, and she stays thin," she told Steve.

"Yes; but she works and you don't. You don't even pay a gymnasium
instructor for daily perseverance, for you could do exercises yourself
if you wanted. You sleep late and keep the house like the equator," he
continued.

Beatrice looked at him in scorn. "Do I ever please you?"

"You married me," he said, gallantly.

"When I did that I was thinking about pleasing only you, I'm afraid,"
was his reward. "I wish you would study French--you have such a queer
education you can't help having queer ideas. And you can't always go
along with such funny views and be like papa. There isn't room for two
in the same family."

"Do you know the Bible?" he demanded.

Beatrice giggled.

"There you are! You think I haven't studied in my own fashion. Well,
if you did know the Bible intellectually