We sat and knitted and yawned, and the husbands put on dressing gowns and ambled up the hill and round to the shower baths in the basement. I looked at Bill. Bill is my husband and I'm fond of Bill. But there are times when he gets on my nerves. He has a faded old bathrobe that saw him through college and his honeymoon, and that he still refuses to part with, and he had it on. It was rather short, and Bill's legs, though serviceable, are not beautiful. He waved his hand to me. "If you'd do a little of that sort of thing, Clara," he called, "you wouldn't need to have the fat rubbed off you by an expensive masseuse." "Quite a typical husbandly speech!" said Carrie Smith. "Do they ever think of anything but exercise and expense?" Well, the men bathed and dressed and had whisky-and-sodas, and came out patronisingly and joined us at tea on the terrace. But inside of ten minutes they were in a group round the ball news and the financial page of the evening papers, and we were alone again. Carrie Smith came over and sat down beside me, with her eyes narrowed to a slit. "I didn't want to hurt your feelings, Clara," she said, "but you see what I mean. They're not interested in us. We manage their houses and bring up their children. That's all." As Carrie was the only one who had any children, and as they were being reared by a trained nurse and a governess, and the baby yelled like an Apache if Carrie went near him, her air of virtue was rather out of place. However: "What would you recommend?" I asked wearily. "They're all alike, aren't they?" "Not all." Her eyes were still narrowed. And at that moment Wallie Smith came over and threw an envelope into her lap. "It came to the office by mistake," he said grimly. "What made you have your necklace reset when I'm practically bankrupt?" "I bought hardly any new stones," she flashed at him. "Anyhow, I intend to be decently clothed. Tear it up; nobody's paying any bills." He stalked away, and Carrie looked at me. "No," she said slowly, "they are not all alike. Thank heaven there are a few men who don't hoist the dollar mark as a flag. Clara, do you remember Harry Delaney?" I looked at Carrie. A little spot of red had come into each of her cheeks, and her eyes, mere slits by now, were fixed on the far-away hills. She and Harry had been engaged years ago, and she threw him over because of his jealous nature. But she seemed to have forgotten that. "Of course," I said, rather startled. "He was a dear. Sometimes I think he was the most generous soul in the world. I cannot imagine his fussing about a necklace, or sulking for hours over a bit of innocent pleasure like my playing a game of pool after a lot of sleepyheads had gone to bed." "What time did you and Bill go upstairs?" "Something after two. We got tired of playing and sat out here and talked. I knew you wouldn't mind, Clara. You've got too much sense. Surely a woman ought to be allowed friends, even if she is married."