aring off on business. And when he's at home--" Edith
was suddenly grave--"of course Maurice is always 'the boy stands on the
burning deck'; but you can't help seeing that he's fed up on poor old
Eleanor! Sometimes I wonder he ever does come home! If I were in his
place, when she gets to nagging _I'd_ go right up in the air! I'd say,
well,--something. But he keeps his tongue between his teeth."

That evening, when Henry Houghton was alone with his wife, he said what
he thought about Maurice: "He _is_ standing on the burning deck of this
pathetic marriage of his, magnificently. He never bats an eyelash!
(Your daughter's slang is vulgar.)"

"Eleanor is the pathetic one," Mary Houghton said, sadly; "Maurice
has grown cynical--which is a sort of protection to him, I suppose.
Yes; I'm afraid Edith is right; she'd better be out at the school next
winter. It isn't well for a girl to see differences between a husband
and wife.... Henry, you shan't have another cigar! That's the third since
supper! Dear, what _is_ the trouble about Maurice?"

"Mary, things have come to a pretty pass, when you snoop around and
count up my cigars! I _will_ smoke!" But he withdrew an empty hand from
his cigar box, and said, sighing, "I wish I could tell you about
Maurice; Kit; but I can't betray his confidence."

"If I guessed, you wouldn't betray anything?"

"Well, no. But--"

"I guessed it a good while ago. Some foolishness about a woman, of
course. Or--or badness?" she ended, sadly.

He nodded. "I wish I was asleep whenever I think of it! Mary, there
are some pretty steep grades on Fool Hill, and he's had hard
climbing.... It's ancient history now; but I can't go into it."

"Of course not. Oh, my poor Maurice! Does Eleanor know?"

"Heavens, no! It wouldn't do."

"Honey, the unforgivable thing, to a woman, is not the sin, but the
deceit. And, besides, Eleanor loves him enough to forgive him. She would
die for him, I really believe!"

"Yet the green-eyed monster looks out of her eyes if he plays checkers
with Edith! My darling," said Henry Houghton, "as I have before
remarked, your ignorance on this one subject is colossal. _Women can't
stand truth._"

"It's a provision of nature, then, that all men are liars?" she
inquired, sweetly; "Henry, the loss of Edith's board won't trouble
Maurice much, will it?"

"Not _as_ much, of course, now that he has all his money; but he has to
scratch gravel to make four ends meet," Henry Houghton s