"Aunt Emma," she said earnestly, "Charles and I haven't had an evening together in weeks. We haven't had a real old talk in months.... Why, I--I doubt if he even remembers what day this is!" "You mean--?" "Our first anniversary! Long ago, we planned to celebrate the day--just the theater and a little supper after--only us two.... I wonder if he will remember." The tremulous voice gave evidence that the tears were very near. "Oh, of course, he will," Mrs. Delancy declared briskly, with a manner of cheerful certainty. Nevertheless, out of the years of experience in the world of married folk, a great doubt lurked in her heart. Cicily's head with the coronal of dark brown hair, usually poised so proudly, now drooped dejectedly; there was no hopefulness in her tones as she replied: "I don't know--I am afraid. Why, since the tobacco trust bought out that Carrington box factory five months ago, and began fighting Charles, he talks tobacco boxes in his sleep." "Don't take it so seriously," the aunt argued. "All men are that way. My dear, your Uncle Jim mumbles woolens--even during Dog Days. No, you mustn't take things so seriously, Cicily. You are not the only wife who has to suffer in this way. You are not the only one who was ever lonesome. Your case isn't unusual--more pity! It's the case of almost every wife whose husband wins in this frightful battle with business. Years ago, dear, I suffered as you are suffering. Your uncle never told me anything. I've never known anything at all about more than half of his life. He rebuffed me the few times at first, when I tried to share those things with him. He said that a woman had no place in a man's business affairs. So, after a little, I stopped trying. For a time, I was lonesome--very lonesome--oh, so lonesome!... And, then, I began to make a life for myself outside the home--as he had already by his business. I tried in my humble way to do something for others. That's the best way to down a heartache, my dear--try making someone else happy." The words arrested Cicily's heed. As their meaning seeped into her consciousness, the expression of her face changed little by little. "Making people happy!" She repeated the phrase as she had formulated the idea again, very softly, with a persistence that would have surprised Mrs. Delancy, could she have caught the inaudible murmur. Presently, the faint rose in the pallor of her cheeks blossomed to a deeper red, and the amber eyes grew radiant, as she lifted the long, curving lashes, and fixed her gaze on her aunt. There was a new animation in her voice as she spoke; there was a new determination in the resolute set of the scarlet lips. "Why, that's something to do!" she exclaimed, joyously. "It's something to do, really, after all--isn't it?" "Yes," her aunt agreed, sedately; "something big to do. For my part, I joined church circles, and worked first for the heathen."