"I am not thinking--at least I am trying not to," Allison answered, in a somewhat strained, unnatural voice. Why would she not leave him alone? Could she not see that he did not wish to talk? "What was the last thing that you were thinking about before you stopped?" Gertrude spoke with painstaking gaiety. Would she always keep up this dissimulation? Allison asked himself. For his part, he was done with it! "I was thinking that this place was fit for a dog-kennel--and for nothing else!" he said. All the bitterness that was eating out his heart was in the low words. "It does look pretty bad to-day," Gertrude acquiesced, after an appreciable interval of time. "_To-day!_" Allison gave a hard, contemptuous little laugh. "As though it ever looked any other way!" Gertrude did not reply.... When Allison noticed her silence, and turned to look at her, he saw that there was a peculiar light in her eyes, a red flush over all her face; after a moment's dazed wonder, he realized that she had misunderstood him--had misunderstood him utterly. His thoughts had been on the sagging floors, the cheap furniture, the marred wall-paper, the miserable ugliness and poverty of the house, and everything in it; but she had seen in his remark only scorn for her housekeeping, irritation at the room's untidiness. She was very angry. As Allison realized this, a sudden fierce satisfaction possessed him. Now at last she would speak out, without pretence, without reserve! He should hear the truth at last. [Illustration: "HE HEARD HER MOVING ABOUT, GETTING HIS LUNCHEON"] But the wrathful look died out of her eyes. She began arranging the knives and forks, looking suddenly old, and steady, and sober. "I'm not much of a housekeeper," she said, quietly. "No, you're not." Allison made his tone as ugly as possible--and waited. Surely she would turn upon him now, overwhelm him with bitter words!