sion. She was simply in
another world from this.

Her husband sat down heavily. He felt an unacademic desire to box her
ears. Perhaps, had he done so, there would have been no story, for
like most women with erratic nerves Clarissa Charleroy had the
elemental liking for a masterful man.

However, her husband's Huguenot blood and scholastic training did not
help him to carry out such primitive impulses toward domestic
discipline. He was a man of sturdy build, with a fine head and brown
eyes of the gentle, faithful kind. Conscientious, persistent, upright,
he perfectly fitted that old-fashioned description our fathers loved,
"a scholar and a gentleman." It {142} cannot be denied that this type
is out of place in our modern life; it is especially at a disadvantage
when confronted with such a modern wife as his.

"Do you mean to--to _leave_ Marvel and me?" he inquired in a voice
that was not as even as he could have wished.

His back was toward the window. His wife could not see that he had
turned white, but she did notice that he looked steadily down into the
palms of his hands.

She faced him with a fine composure.

"I don't see that I'm much good here and I, myself, am certainly very
miserable," she said. "There is so much antagonism between you and me,
Paul. We think alike about so few things!"

"Do you think the antagonism lies {143} between you and me--or between
you and our circumstances?" inquired the professor. His voice was
controlled now, but cutting. "Also, do you feel any special antagonism
to Marvel? She is rather like yourself, you know."

Clarissa nodded brightly. He was stunned to see that she approved
this.

"That's better! Do fight me, Paul! It clarifies my ideas, and I see
more definitely what I want. I wish you were a good fighter. I like
hard knocks!"

"Good Lord! little girl, you don't mean all this nonsense--you can't.
Why, it's impossible. You're my wife. I've done my best. Some day I
shall do better. We shall win to peace and comfort yet--if you stand
by. My text-book--"

Clarissa waved a disdainful hand. Her blue eyes were liquid,
wonderful.

{144}

"You don't seem to think of the cause, Paul! Don't you realize that _I
can do good work for humanity?_ Everybody can't do that. Everybody is
n't called to it. I am."

Paul Charleroy let this statement pass. It hung in the air between
them, unchallenged, undenounced. Possibly it was true. But, the man
was wondering dumbly, what beca