, and Milton----"

"It sounds like a correspondence-school course. Don't, Stevuns! Do you
know the latest dance from Spain--the _paso-doble_? Of course you
don't. You don't know any of the romance of the Ming Dynasty or how to
tell a Tanagra figurine from a plaster-of-paris shepherdess. You
haven't read a single Russian novel; you just glare and stare when
they're mentioned. You won't play bridge, you can't sing or make
shadow pictures or imitate any one. Good gracious, now that you've
made a fortune--enjoy it!"

Steve was silent. It was not only futile to argue--it was nerve-racking.
Besides, he had found someone else with whom argument was a rare joy
and a personal gain--Mary Faithful. At frequent intervals he had won a
welcome at the doorway of the little apartment. He almost wished that
Beatrice would find it out and row about it, leaving him in peace. He
had not yet assumed unselfish views as to the matter. He was no
longer in love with his wife but he was not yet in love with Mary.
Instead he was passing through that interlude, whose brevity has made
the world doubt its existence, known as platonic friendship.
Platonic friendship does exist but it is like tropical twilight--the
one whirlwind second in which brilliant sunshine and blue skies dip
down and the stars and the moon dash up--and then the trick is done!

But like the thief who audaciously walks by the house of his victim,
Steve was never accused of anything worse than using his leisure time
to frequent those low restaurants where they serve everything on a
two-inch-thick platter. Which, he had retorted, was a relief from
eating turtle steak off green-glass dinner plates.

The first wedding anniversary was a rather disappointing affair since
Beatrice had to remodel her wedding gown in order to wear it. That
fact alone was distressing. And at the eleventh hour Steve was called
out of town, which left Beatrice in the hands of her angel-duck
brigade, who all felt it their duty to paint Steve in terms of
reproach.

"Now Steve felt just as badly about going as you do to have him away,"
her father said by way of clumsy consolation. "And he bought you a
mighty handsome gift."

"But I have one quite as lovely," Beatrice objected. "It was
unpardonable of him to go, even if there was a strike and a fire. Let
the police arrest everybody."

She laid aside the gift, a glittering head-dress in the form of
platinum Mercury wings set with diamonds, fitting close