was dining
with an old friend at the club.

Coming in brightly, but, as usual, losing half his personality in the
hall, he found Mary at seven o'clock sitting in the little boudoir, in
the usual arm-chair, looking our for him, not, apparently, thinking of
dressing for dinner.

"Hallo, Mary!" he said. "Hadn't you better get ready for your mother?"

"No," she responded rather coldly and bitingly, "I've put mother off."

He glanced at her with self-control. She looked, he thought, far more
bitter than usual.

"That's a pity, because you will be alone--dear. Besides, the stalls
will be wasted."

"No, they won't," she said. "You'll stay at home with me, and take me to
the St. James's. You can easily put off your man at the club." She
looked him full in the eyes.

Colour rose to his face and then faded away.

"I'm sorry, my dear, but that's impossible."

"It isn't impossible--you mean you don't want to do it. ... Oh, do
please--please, Nigel!" She came towards him and played with his
tie--the trick of hers that he hated most.

She mistook his silence, which was hesitation as to what plan to adopt,
for vacillation, and thought she was going to win. ...

"Oh, 'oo will, 'oo will!" she exclaimed, with a rather sickly imitation
of a spoilt child, with her head on one side. It was a pose that did not
suit her in any way.

He drew back; the shiny red hair gave him a feeling of positive nausea.
She was attempting to defeat him--she was trying to be coquettish--poor
thing! ... She suspected something; she hadn't put off her mother for
nothing. ... He was going to the Russian Ballet with Bertha--how could
he leave Bertha in the lurch? With Madeline and Rupert, too--what harm
was there in it? (The fact that he heartily wished there _was_ had
really nothing to do with the point.)

Husbands and wives usually know when opposition is useless. Mary
privately gave it up when she heard Nigel speak firmly and quickly--not
angrily.

"I've made the arrangement now, and I can't back out."

"And what about me?" she said, in a shrill voice.

He went out of the room hastily, saying:

"I can't help it now; if you alter your arrangements at the last
minute--stop at home and read a book, or take some friend to the St.
James's."

He ran upstairs like a hunted hare; he was afraid of being late. He had
got his table at the Carlton.

Left alone in the boudoir, a terrible expression came over Mary's face.
She said to herself quite l