e abruptly, tipping over the dainty chair as he did so. He
tried to straighten out the pinky rug and set the chair properly upon
it. Then he squared off his shoulders and dutifully stooped to kiss
his economical little helpmate.

"All right, darling," he said, glibly, feeling that Gorgeous Girls
were get-rich-quick men's albatrosses, "that will be very amusing for
you. It will tide you over until the horse-show season. Now if you
don't mind I'm going below to ask what the chances are for some roast
beef!"

Toward Christmas, when Beatrice had gone to New York with friends and
Mark Constantine discovered that dying is ever so much harder than
death, Mary told Steve that she was considering a new position, with a
firm dealing in fabrics, a firm of old and honourable reputation.

She laid the letter from her prospective employers on his desk, in
almost naive fashion. It was as if she wanted to show this was no
woman's threat but a bona-fide and businesslike proposition. And if
she blushed from sheer foolish joy at the disappointed and protesting
expression that came into his face it was small solace after the
struggle she had undergone before she made herself take this step.

"You are not going," he began, angrily. "I'm damned if you do!"

"Oh, my dear, my own dear," she murmured within. Outwardly she shook
her head briskly and added, "Yes, I am. The hours--the salary----"

"The deuce take that stuff! How much more money do you want me to pay
you? How few hours a day will you consent to work? You know so well it
has been you who have done your own slave driving. Besides, I can't
get on without you."

"You must; I haven't the right to stay."

Steve stood up, crumpling the letter in his hand. "You mean because of
what I said--that time?"

"Partly; partly because I find myself disapproving of your transactions."

"They are a safe gamble," he began, vehemently.

"Are they? I doubt it. Don't ask me to stay. I want to remain poised
and content. If I cannot be radiantly happy I can be content, the sort
of old-lavender-and-star-dust peace that used to be mine."

"Have I ever said things, made you feel or do----"

"Oh, no." As she looked at him the gray eyes turned wistful purple.
"But it is what we may say or do, Mister Penny Wise."

Steve looked at the crumpled letter. "So you are going over to staid
graybeards who deal in cotton and woollens, and play commercial nun to
the end--is that it?"

"Yes."

"And you d