“Your friends?” cried Zoie with a sneer. This time it was her turn to be angry. “So! It's your FRIENDS that are worrying you!” In her excitement she tossed Alfred's now damaged hat into the chair just behind her. He was far too overwrought to see it. “_I_ haven't done you any harm,” she continued wildly. “It's only what you think your friends think.” “You haven't done me any harm?” repeated Alfred, in her same tragic key, “Oh no! Oh no! You've only cheated me out of everything I expected to get out of life! That's all!” Zoie came to a full stop and waited for him to enumerate the various treasures that he had lost by marrying her. He did so. “Before we were married,” he continued, “you pretended to adore children. You started your humbugging the first day I met you. I refer to little Willie Peck.” A hysterical giggle very nearly betrayed her. Alfred continued: “I was fool enough to let you know that I admire women who like children. From that day until the hour that I led you to the altar, you'd fondle the ugliest little brats that we met in the street, but the moment you GOT me----” “Alfred!” gasped Zoie. This was really going too far. “Yes, I repeat it!” shouted Alfred, pounding the table with his fist for emphasis. “The moment you GOT me, you declared that all children were horrid little insects, and that someone ought to sprinkle bug-powder on them.” “Oh!” protested Zoie, shocked less by Alfred's interpretation of her sentiments, than by the vulgarity with which he expressed them. “On another occasion,” declared Alfred, now carried away by the recital of his long pent up wrongs, “you told me that all babies should be put in cages, shipped West, and kept in pens until they got to be of an interesting age. 'Interesting age!'” he repeated with a sneer, “meaning old enough to take YOU out to luncheon, I suppose.” “I never said any such thing,” objected Zoie. “Well, that was the idea,” insisted Alfred. “I haven't your glib way of expressing myself.” “You manage to express yourself very well,” retorted Zoie. “When you have anything DISAGREEABLE to say. As for babies,” she continued tentatively, “I think they are all very well in their PLACE, but they were NEVER meant for an APARTMENT.” “I offered you a house in the country,” shouted Alfred. “The country!” echoed Zoie. “How could I live in the country, with people being murdered in their beds every night? Read the papers.” “Always an excuse,” sighed Alfred resignedly. “There always HAS been and there always would be if I'd stay to listen. Well, for once,” he declared, “I'm glad that we have no children. If we had, I might feel some obligation to keep up this farce of a marriage. As it is,” he continued, “YOU are free and _I_ am free.” And with a courtly wave of his arm, he dismissed Zoie and the entire subject, and again he started in pursuit of Mary and his hat. “If it's your freedom you wish,” pouted Zoie with an abused air, “you might have said so in the first place.”