"You know you're never
at home if you don't want to be," he said.

She stood misleadingly drooping before him. But though her appearance
was passive enough for the most exacting lover her will had never been
in more vigorous revolt. She knew Harry was taking her weariness for
acquiescence, and she let him take it so. She even followed him into the
hall, and with a vague idea of further propitiation, nodded away Shima
and opened the door for him herself.

The fog was a chasm of white outside. Harry turned on the brink of it.
"By the way, where's Clara?"

"Why, do you want to see her? She'll be out all day. She's dining with
the Willie Herricks."

"No, I don't want to see her, but, by the way, she's not dining with the
Willie Herricks; she's dining with the Bullers. I heard her make the
engagement yesterday."

"Oh, no, Harry, I'm sure you're mistaken."

"Well, it doesn't matter. All I want to know is, why did you show that
ring to Clara before it was set?"

She was genuinely aghast. "I didn't," she flashed. "What made you think
I had?"

He shrugged. "Well, she asked me where we got it. I don't see why women
always talk those things over." He was looking at her inquiringly.

"Well, I haven't," she said quickly. "Have you?"

He looked out upon the fog. "Told her where we got it, do you mean? No,
I just chaffed her. I'd look out, if I were you. She strikes me as
damned curious." He stood a moment on the threshold, looking from Flora
to the chasm of fog outside, as if he were choosing between two chances.
"I think I'll take that ring this morning," he said slowly.

The deliberate words came to her with a shock. But in the moment, while
she looked into Harry's moody face, she realized how impossible to make
a scene over what must still be maintained as a trivial matter betwixt
them--the mere resetting of a jewel; what should she do to put him off?
She looked up at him, and saw with relief that his face was turned from
her to the fog, as if he had forgotten her. Then, still with averted
head, as if he addressed the whiteness, or himself,--"No," he
determined, "I won't. I'll take it when I come back." He pulled himself
together with an effort, with a smile. "That is," he turned to her, "if
you're in no great hurry about the setting? Very well, then. In a day or
two."

He plunged away into the fog. A few rods from the door he disappeared,
but she could still hear his footsteps growing thinner, lighter, passing
awa