e loved. So, resolving to indulge himself, he
had put into his bag his pair of gout-boots.

This was a device of his own inventing, on which he prided himself. It
consisted of a pair of roomy doe-skin slippers reenforced with heavy
soles and provided with a set of three thin insoles to be used
according as the state of his toes made advisable. The cost of the
Presbury gout-boot had been, thanks to patient search for a cheap
cobbler, something under four dollars--this, when men paid shoe
specialists twenty, thirty, and even forty dollars a pair for
gout-boots that gave less comfort. The morning after the dinner at
which he had drunk to drown his chagrin and to give him courage and
tongue for sycophantry, he put on the boots. Without them it would have
been necessary to carry him from his room to a cab and from cab to
train. With them he was able to hobble to a street-car. He tried to
distract his mind from his sufferings by lashing away without ceasing
at his wife and his step-daughter.

When they were once more at home, and the mother and daughter escaped
from him, the mother said:

"I was glad to see that you put up with that wretch, and didn't answer
him back."

"Of course," said Mildred. "He's mad to be rid of me, but if I
offended him he might snatch away this chance."

"He would," said Mrs. Presbury. "I'm sure he would. But--" she
laughed viciously--"once you're married you can revenge yourself--and
me!"

"I wonder," said Mildred thoughtfully.

"Why not?" exclaimed her mother, irritated.

"I can't make Mr. Presbury out," replied the girl. "I understand why
he's helping me to this chance, but I don't understand why he isn't
making friends with me, in the hope of getting something after I'm
married."

Her mother saw the point, and was instantly agitated. "Perhaps he's
simply leading you on, intending to upset it all at the last minute."
She gritted her teeth. "Oh, what a wretch!"

Mildred was not heeding. "I must have General Siddall looked up
carefully," she went on. "It may be that he isn't rich, or that he has
another wife somewhere, or that there's some other awful reason why
marrying him would be even worse than it seems."

"Worse than it seems!" cried her mother. "How CAN you talk so, Milly!
The general seems to be an ideal husband--simply ideal! I wish _I_ had
your chance. Any sensible woman could love him."

A strange look came into the girl's face, and her mother could not
with