is hobby was racing. He
was a good horseman, disliked golf, and seldom went out of the British
Isles, though he never said that his own country was good enough for
him. When he did cross the Channel he visited Paris, Monte Carlo,
Homburg, Biarritz, or some place where he was certain to be in the midst
of his "pals." The strain of wildness, which made his wife uncommon and
interesting, did not exist in him, but he was rather proud of it in her,
and had been heard to say more than once, "Addie's a regular gipsy," as
if the statement were a high compliment. He was a tall, well-built,
handsome man of fifty-two, with gray hair and moustache, an agreeable
tenor voice, which was never used in singing, and the best-cut clothes
in London. Although easily kind he was thoroughly selfish. Everybody had
a good word for him, and nobody, who really knew him, ever asked him to
perform an unselfish action. "That isn't Jimmy's line" was their
restraining thought if they had for a moment contemplated suggesting to
Mr. Shiffney that he might perhaps put himself out for a friend. And
Jimmy was quite of their opinion, and always stuck to his "line," like a
sensible fellow.

Two or three days after Mrs. Shiffney's visit to Claude Heath her
husband, late one afternoon, found her in tears.

"What's up, Addie?" he asked, with the sympathy he never withheld from
her. "Another gown gone wrong?"

Mrs. Shiffney shook her powerful head, on which was a marvellous black
hat crowned with a sort of factory chimney of stiff black plumes.

Mr. Shiffney lit a cigar.

"Poor old Addie!" he said. He leaned down and stroked her shoulder. "I
wish you could get hold of somebody or something that'd make you happy,"
he remarked. "I'm sure you deserve it."

His wife dried her tears and sniffed two or three times almost with the
frankness of a grief-stricken child.

"I never shall!"

"Why not, Addie?"

"There's something in me--I don't know! I should get tired of anyone who
didn't get tired of me!"

She almost began to cry again, and added despairingly:

"So what hope is there? And I _do_ so want to enjoy myself! I wonder if
there ever has been a woman who wanted to enjoy herself as much as I
do?"

Mr. Shiffney blew forth a cloud of smoke, extending the little finger of
the hand which held his cigar.

"We all want to have a good time," he observed. "A first-rate time. What
else are we here for?"

He spoke seriously.

"We are here to keep things g