"Sir, I will take no blame, either about things spoiled, or stolen." "There is no question of theft. If the ladies using these rooms for a day or two----" "For three weeks, sir." "Used also some clothing found in the rooms----" "Not found, sir, I beg pardon, but locked trunks were opened for them, which the men in the kitchen say is clear burglary--perhaps wishing to frighten me, sir. But this way, or that way, sir, things have been ruined that cost no end of money, and when I saw my lady's spoiled gowns and furs, and broken jewelry, they fairly took my breath away! Yes, sir, they did." "You may go now, Ducie." "I cannot and will not be blamed, sir, and I want that fact clear." "You may go, now. I have told you that once before. If I have to tell you again, you can leave the house altogether." "Ducie," said Theodora, "I wish you would look after clean linen for the beds and dressing tables." "What is the matter with the linen, Dora?" "It is not clean. It looks as if it had been used for two or three weeks." "Are you sure?" "Look at it! I can do without many things, Robert, but I cannot do without clean linen." "Of course not! It is awfully provoking. I tried so hard to have everything spotlessly clean and comfortable, but----" He turned away with an air of angry disappointment. Dora went to his side and praised again all he had done. She said she would forget all that was spoiled, or broken, or stolen for his sake, and for sweet love's sake, and she emphasized all her tender words with kisses and endearing names. And she found, as many women find, that the more she renounced her just displeasure and chagrin the harder it was to conciliate her husband's. Whether he enjoyed Dora's efforts to comfort him, or was really of that childish temper which gets more and more injured, as it is more and more consoled, it was at this stage of her married life impossible for Theodora to decide. However, in a little while he condescended to forgive Theodora for the annoyances others had caused him, and said: "It is later than I thought it. We have forgotten tea." "I do not want any." "I am going to speak to mother. Shall I send you a cup?" "No, thank you. Do not stop long, Robert." She went to the window and looked out into the dreary night. A heavy rain was falling, and not a star was visible in that muffled atmosphere. Sorrowful feelings pervaded all her thoughts, and she asked her soul eagerly for some password out of the tangle of small trials, which like brambles made her path difficult and painful. For the circumstances in which she so suddenly found herself, confounded and troubled her. Had Robert deceived her? Had she been deceived in Robert? It was, however, a consciousness of having fallen below herself, which hurt her worst of all. She had made concessions, where concession was wrong; she had made apologies for her husband, whereas he ought to have made them to her.