The woman of faithful heart who has been left behind mentally by her husband is a tragic figure, even if she is at the same time a little ridiculous--poor soul! Her futile, panting efforts to catch up; her brave, pitiful blunders; her antics of imitation; her foolish pink lawn frocks--of course they are funny; but the midnight tears are not funny, nor the prinking (behind locked doors), nor the tightened dresses, nor the stealthy reading to "improve the mind"--that poor, anxious, limited mind which knows only its duty to its dearest and best. These things mean the pain--a hopeless pain--of the recognition of limitations. What did it matter that once a year Tom announced that he had loved his Amelia for so many years, months, days, hours, and minutes?--He did not talk to her about the President's letter! But he talked to Helen Hayes about it. And yet she was a pale thing. "She never had my color," poor Milly thought; "and they say she doesn't get along well at home. And she's no housekeeper. Mrs. Hayes herself told me she was just real useless about the house. I can't understand it." Of course she could not understand it. What feminine mind ever understood why uselessness attracts a sensible man? It is so foolish that even the most foolish woman cannot explain it. As the autumn closed in on Old Chester, nobody in the family noticed Milly Dilworth's heavier look and deeper silence. Tom himself was more talkative than usual; business had been good, and he was going to get something handsome out of a deal he had gone into with Hayes. This took him often to the Hayeses' house; and after the two men had had their talk, Miss Helen was to be found at the parlor fireside, very arch and eager with questions, but most of all so respectful of Tom's opinions. His Amelia was respectful of his opinions, too, but in such a different way. Perhaps just at this time Thomas Dilworth pitied himself a little--the middle-aged husband does pity himself once in a while. Perhaps he sighed--certainly he whistled. There is no doubt that Mrs. Drayton would have felt he was wandering from his Amelia--at least in imagination. And yet Tom was as settled and grounded in love for his middle-aged wife as he ever had been. This, however, cannot be understood by those who do not know that the male creature, good and honest and faithful as he may be, is at heart a Mormon. "I declare," Tom said, coming home at twelve o'clock at night--"I declare I feel younger." Milly was silent. Then Tom began to whistle: [Illustration: music fragment] Then he broke off to say that he didn't think that Helen Hayes was over-happy at home. "The Hayeses are commonplace people, and she is very superior. I guess they don't get along well." Milly thought to herself that when a girl didn't get along with her own mother it didn't speak well for the girl; but she did not say so.