“That brilliant girl you told me about; Elaine Sturges; she sounded promising.” This name had the effect of a cave-in under Wilfred’s feet. He dropped sickeningly; the waters of wretchedness closed over his head. Just when he had succeeded in forgetting it, too. He carefully made his face a blank. The skin of it grew tight in the effort. “Oh, yes, she has character,” he said carelessly. “Don’t you see her any more?” “She leads a crowded life,” said Wilfred. “Occasionally she vouchsafes me an hour.” “How picturesque, such a life!” murmured Frances Mary. “Has she got the imagination to conceive its picturesqueness?” Wilfred attended closely to his pipe. His heart swelled and seemed to squeeze his lungs. He cautiously drew a long breath. He wondered if Frances Mary was doing this on purpose, but dared not look at her, for he suspected that she was looking at him. Her eyes were sharp. “Hardly imaginative,” he said, after a pause, as if for consideration. “If she isn’t imaginative, what on earth do you find to talk about?” asked Frances Mary. Wilfred thought of venturing a laugh; decided against it. He shot a glance at Frances Mary through his lashes. She was no longer looking at him. The line of her averted face suggested the same agonized self-consciousness that he felt. Of course, he thought, I am giving everything away, and she feels for me. She has guessed everything. Why not be open with her? He trembled with a horrible internal weakness. No! he thought desperately. If I let a single word out, I should go completely to pieces. Make a disgusting exhibition of myself; this thing’s got to be clamped down. . . . “Oh, she likes me to explain her to herself,” he said lightly. Frances Mary let the subject drop. VI “This only drives me crazy!” said Joe, suddenly rising. “. . . It maddens me!” Elaine huddled in the big chair, turned sideways and dropped her face on her outstretched arm. “You’re not so crazy but you’re able to stop!” she murmured resentfully. Joe helped himself to a cigarette from the mantel. “The servants already suspect,” he said. “What makes you think so?” “They tap on the door before coming in.” “Well, let them suspect! They’re devoted to me. Servants always are.” “That may be; but it won’t prevent their talking. And talk spreads from servants.” “I don’t care!” “I _do_. If you won’t take care of yourself, I must take care of you.” Elaine smiled crookedly. “Oh, I’m not taking a moral attitude,” said Joe. “It’s just that I don’t choose to have my wife talked about by servants.” “I have not said that I would marry you,” she said quickly. “But you will!” Elaine was silent, looking into the grate. She was pale; her cheeks showed little shadowy hollows. It was a disagreeable mild day out-of-doors; indoors the fire sulked. Her silence shook Joe a little. Darting an uneasy glance at her, he asked combatively: “Why don’t you want to marry me?”