"We must have Joan up to stay with us; she could write nicely at the table in the dining-room, couldn't she?" said Norah, when they began to talk rationally again. They felt wonderfully fond of Joan this evening. "Oh, do you think so? I fancy she'll be all right down at Relton for the present," he answered. He was feeling that he could do with his wife for a good long time now. "It's just as you like, dear. And do you know, baby is so wonderfully good now she has nearly all her teeth, that I believe you would find the study quiet enough to write music in. It has been very uncomfortable for you lately, hasn't it?" said she. "Oh, it's been all right. And I don't think I want to write music much. I say, do you think baby will take to me now?" said he. Then she laughed, and he demanded the reason of her merriment. "I was thinking how Joan once said that I should never be able to understand your nature, and that you would be wounding me half-a-dozen times a day," she explained, and laughed again. "How absurd of her," he cried, and roared with laughter himself; "but then you know, childie, Joan has always been possessed with the idea that we were not born for each other." "Could anything be more ridiculous?" said Norah; and they broke into a fresh peal of laughter, without any apparent reason for it. A distant wail from the nursery summoned her presently, and Digby was left alone in the dining-room. He smoked two cigarettes in silence, with a complacent smile, and he delivered himself of his favorite exclamation as he rolled up a third. "Good heavens!" he said out loud; "if it were not for habit what chance would there be for marriage? Next time I see Joan, I'll--" But there he stopped. THE END. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of At The Relton Arms, by Evelyn Sharp