The husbands of her married friends were at work all day, and if she occasionally met them at their wives’ card-parties, they did not interest her very greatly. Most of the wives distrusted the husbands and gave them no opportunity for flirtation with other women. And Horace Williams himself was a jealous man, always suspicious, and never allowed his young wife to go anywhere with any man but himself. Elsie had been for a long while in inward revolt against the dullness of her life. She remembered with longing the old days of her girlhood, when every walk had been the prelude to adventure, and the casual kisses of unknown, or scarcely known, men had roused her to rapture. Nowadays, she knew very well that she would be less easily satisfied. The apathy that had been creeping over her ever since her marriage had to a certain extent lessened the force of the animal magnetism by which she had been able to lure the senses of almost every man she met, and for the first time she was beginning to have doubts of her own attractiveness. Elsie gave a sigh that was almost a groan. Williams neither stirred nor raised his eyes. “I think I’ll retire to my little downy,” Elsie murmured, drearily facetious. “It’s only a quarter past nine.” “Oh, well, we lead such a deliriously exciting life that I’d better get some rest, hadn’t I?” she said ironically. “Just to make up for all the late nights we have.” At last her husband put down the paper and looked coldly at her through his pince-nez. “What is it you want, Elsie? I work hard all day at the office, and you have plenty of time and money for amusing yourself in the daytime--and a strange use you seem to make of them, judging by to-day’s performance. What more do you want?” “I don’t know. We might go to the pictures sometimes, or to a play. I hate not having anything to do.” “That’s the complaint of every woman who hasn’t got children.” “I can’t help it,” said Elsie angrily. He said nothing, but continued to fix his eyes upon her, with his most disagreeable expression. “Good-night, Horace.” “I shall come up to bed before you’re asleep,” he said meaningly. She went out of the room. The thought crossed her mind, as it had often done before, that she had made a frightful mistake in marrying Horace Williams. “I was only eighteen,” she thought, “I ought to have waited. Perhaps he’ll die.” As she undressed, Elsie idly imagined a drama of which she herself would, of course, be the heroine. Horace would be at the office, as usual, and a telephone message would come through to say that he was ill--very ill indeed--he was dead. Everyone would admire the young widow in her black, with her string of pearl beads.... Horace would leave her quite a lot of money. Elsie knew that he was rich, although he had never told her his income. She would stay on in the villa, but people would come and see her--she would go out and enjoy herself--enjoy life, once more.... Elsie sighed again as she got into bed.