lty look about you. You are hanging round. At
this time of the morning you have usually retreated to your fastnesses.
Why has not the telephone claimed you? There is something on your mind."

"No," said the lady of the house airily; "I have a vacant mind."

"Where, then," I said, "is your loud laugh? I have not heard you shout
'Ha-ha,' or anything remotely resembling 'Ha-ha.' Something is weighing
upon you."

"Not at all."

"Yes at all," I said decisively. "You have something to confess."

"Confess!" she said scornfully. "What nonsense is this about confession?
We are not early-Victorians."

"Yes, we are. I insist upon it. I shall be busy with my writing. You
will come and kneel unperceived at my feet with an imploring look upon
your tear-stained face. I shall give a sudden start----"

"And," she went on enthusiastically, "I shall stretch out my hands to
you, and you will raise me tenderly from the floor, and I shall then
explain----"

"That appearances were against you, but that Eugene is really your
brother by a first marriage----"

"And I shall then call for the smelling salts and swoon like this"--she
collapsed in an inanimate heap on the sofa--"and you will rise to your
full height----"

"Yes," I said, "I shall forgive you freely."

"No," she said, "you will blame yourself for not having appreciated my
angelic nature, for having treated me as a mere toy, for having----"

"Yes," I said," for having married you at all. But I shall forgive you
all the same, and I shall present you with the locket containing my
grandmother's miniature. Come on; let us start at once. I forgive you
from the bottom of my heart."

"All right," she said, "I accept your forgiveness. And now that we've
cleared the ground, you'll perhaps allow me----"

"Aha," I said, "then there _is_ something after all?"

"There always is _something_," she said, "so perhaps you'll allow me to
ask you a question?"

"A question?" I said. "Ask me fifty. I don't promise to answer them. I'm
only human, you know, but----"

"Surely," she said, "this humility is exaggerated."

"Anyhow," I said, "I'll do my best, so fire away."

"What," she said, "does one do with a legal document?"

"Isn't this rather sudden?" I said. "'What does one do with a legal
document?' My dear, one does a thousand things. One buys land, or sells
it--which is much better. One gets separated, or, rather, two get
separated; one gets a legacy, generally quite inadequate;