Her lord never confessed that he took opium or ardent spirits. Indeed, he made capital of his total abstinence even from tobacco. There was always a cause, natural or violent, for his attacks. The Chicago seizure followed upon his rashness in swallowing, “mistaking it for mineral water,” a pint of spirits of wine, bought for cleaning his Sunday suit. Other turns he attributed, severally, to dyspepsia, to vertigo, to over-study, and to extreme heat. A sunstroke, suffered when he was in college, rendered him peculiarly sensitive to hot weather. His wife never gainsaid his elaborate explanations. He was her Percy, her conscience, her king. She not only went backward with the cloak of love to conceal his shame, but she affected to forget the degradation when he became sober. Many women in a thousand, and about one man in twenty millions, are “built so.” The policy—or principle—may be humane. It is not Godlike. The All-Merciful calls sinners to repentance before offering pardon. The Church insists upon conviction as a preliminary to conversion. Mrs. Wayt was a Christian and a churchwoman, but she clung pathetically to belief in the efficacy of her plan for the reclamation of her husband. In life, or in death, she would not have upon her soul the weight of a reproach addressed to him whom she had sworn to “honor.” Love was omnipotent. In time he would learn the depth of hers and be lured back to the right way. He was plaintive this forenoon, but not peevish. His eyes were bloodshot; his tongue was furry; there was a gnawing in the pit of his stomach and an unaccountable ache at the base of the brain. “I have missed another sunstroke by a hair’s breadth,” he informed his wife. “I almost regret that we did not go to the seashore. My summer labors are exhausting the reserves of vital energy.” “Why not run down to the beach for a day or two next week?” suggested Mrs. Wayt. “Now that your wife is an heiress, you can afford a change of air, now and then.” A dull red arose in the sallow cheek. He pulled her down to kiss her. “The best, sweetest wife ever given to man!” he said. After that he bade her get a little rest. She must have slept little the night before. Annie would keep him company. While his head was so light and his tongue so thick Annie’s was the best society for him. She made no demand upon intellectual forces. He sent the best wife ever given to man off lightened in spirit, and grateful for the effort he made to appease her anxiety and to affect the gayety he could not be supposed to feel. She looked back at the door to exchange affectionate smiles with the dear, unselfish fellow.