“_You didn’t order it!_—Will, please don’t drum on things that way, you know it drives me wild. Well, if you can’t remember one thing I ask you to do—if you can’t keep a single promise that you make me—— It isn’t the _coal_ I care about—though my feet have been like stones all day—but it’s the fact that I can’t depend on you for _anything_. _Please_ don’t whistle. You can attend to business matters well enough, but when it comes to the comfort of your wife and child——” an unforeseen sob broke across the words. “Of course, it’s been warm enough in your steam-heated office to-day. I’m glad it has been, I wouldn’t have had you cold for anything.” In spite of her tears she was following after him as he searched in his chiffonier drawer for a clean collar. “You’ve done it all so many times! You carried that important letter to Hetty in your pocket for six weeks before you told me.” “Yes, and if you’re going on like this every time I tell you anything, I’ll stop it,” said Mr. Laurence doggedly. “You don’t give me any credit for owning up, Nan. You wouldn’t know half the time when I make mistakes, if I didn’t tell you.” “I don’t see what else you could have said when I asked you if you had ordered the coal.” “I could have lied about it, I suppose,” said Mr. Laurence impatiently. “O Will!” she gasped with horror. Her white chin went up, her dark eyes looked at him full of agitation. She put her hands on his shoulders and shook him ineffectively. “You wouldn’t—you _couldn’t_ do that! You always tell me the truth, don’t you—all of it?” “Usually,” assented her husband. He had finished settling his tie and now put his arms around her. “But if it’s going to make you any happier if I _don’t_——” “No, no, no! You know I never could mean that—never! I could forgive you anything as long as you told me the truth.” She clung to him as they went down to dinner together, and she forbore to allude to the state of the atmosphere, except by shivering once or twice—the gas logs sent forth a chill, blue flare. There was an odd return to that arrested, baffling expression on Mr. Laurence’s face, however, when his wife announced her intention of going around to the Lalors’ with him afterwards. “Don’t you think it is too cold for you to go out to-night?” he asked, and she answered with a playful gleam of the sarcasm she couldn’t keep from using. “No, I think it’s too cold for me to stay in.”