nst him.
But we could never be in the slightest degree sympathetic. He and I
don't--don't--"

"Don't jibe," Orde finished for her. "I didn't much think you would. Joe
never was much of a society bug." It was on the tip of Carroll's
tongue to reply that "society bugs" were not the only sort she could
appreciate, but she refrained. She had begun to realise the extent of
her influence over her husband's opinion.

Newmark did not live at the hotel. Early in the fall he had rented a
small one-story house situated just off Main Street, set well back from
the sidewalk among clumps of oleanders. Into this he retired as a snail
into its shell. At first he took his meals at the hotel, but later he
imported an impassive, secretive man-servant, who took charge of
him completely. Neither master nor man made any friends, and in fact
rebuffed all advances. One Sunday, Carroll and Orde, out for a walk,
passed this quaint little place, with its picket fence.

"Let's go in and return Joe's call," suggested Orde.

Their knock at the door brought the calm valet.

"Mr. Newmark is h'out, sir," said he. "Yes, sir, I'll tell him that you
called."

They turned away. As they sauntered down the little brick-laid walk,
Carroll suddenly pressed close to her husband's arm.

"Jack," she begged, "I want a little house like that, for our very own."

"We can't afford it, sweetheart."

"Not to own," she explained, "just to rent. It will be next best to
having a home of our own."

"We'd have to have a girl, dear," said Orde, "and we can't even afford
that, yet."

"A girl!" cried Carroll indignantly. "For us two!"

"You couldn't do the housework and the cooking," said Orde. "You've
never done such a thing in your life, and I won't have my little girl
slaving."

"It won't be slaving, it will be fun--just like play-housekeeping,"
protested Carroll. "And I've got to learn some time. I was brought up
most absurdly, and I realise it now."

"We'll see," said Orde vaguely.

The subject was dropped for the time being. Later Carroll brought it up
again. She was armed with several sheets of hotel stationery, covered
with figures showing how much cheaper it would be to keep house than to
board.

"You certainly make out a strong case--on paper," laughed Orde. "If you
buy a rooster and a hen, and she raises two broods, at the end of a
year you'll have twenty-six; and if they all breed--even allowing half
roosters--you'll have over three hundred; a