He turned to the twin bed and from the fretted counterpane unpinned the second lavender-colored and scented note—the kind Idelle was always scribbling when she was doing things she shouldn’t. It didn’t make one hanged bit of difference now what she wrote, of course—only— He wouldn’t follow her this time; no, he wouldn’t! He wouldn’t have anything more to do with her ever! He would quit now, lock the doors in a few minutes, discharge the servants, cut off her allowance, tell her to go to blazes. He would go and live at a club, as he had so often threatened before to himself—or get out of G——, as he had also threatened. He couldn’t stand the comment that would follow, anyhow. He had had enough of it. He hated the damned city! He had never had any luck in it. Never had he been happy here, in spite of the fact that he had been born and brought up here, and twice married here—never! Twice now he had been treated like this by women right here in this city, his home town, where everybody knew! Twice he had been made a fool of, but this time— _The letter, though!_ “Dearest and best of hubbies, I know you’re going to be disappointed at not finding me here, and in spite of anything I can say, probably terribly angry, too. (I wish you wouldn’t be, darling!) But, sweetheart, if you’ll only believe me this time (I’ve said that before when you wouldn’t, I know, and it wasn’t my fault, either), it wasn’t premeditated, really, it wasn’t! Honest, cross my heart, dear, twenty ways, and hope to die!” (_What did she really care for his disappointment or what he suffered, curse her!_) “Only yesterday at four Betty called up and insisted that I should come. There’s a big house party on, and you’re invited, of course, when you get back. Her cousin Frank is coming and some friends of his,” (_Yes, he knew what friends!_) “and four of my old girl chums, so I just couldn’t get out of it, nor would I, particularly since she wanted me to help her, and I’ve asked her so many times to help us—now, could I?” Idelle’s way in letters, as in person, was always bantering. To the grave with Betty Gildas and all her house parties, in so far as he was concerned, the fast, restless, heartless thing! Why couldn’t she have been here just this once, when he wanted her so much and had wired and written in plenty of time for her to be!