“And always shall, if you are so ugly about it! Why must you fly into a rage over it? Your temper is--” “My temper is roused by your cruelty--” “Cruelty!” “Yes; it’s as much cruelty as if you struck me! You deny me my heart’s dearest wish for no reason whatever--” “It’s enough that I don’t approve of an allowance--” “It ought to be enough that I do!” “No, no, my lady! I love you, I adore you, but I am not the sort of man to lie down and let you walk over me! I give you everything you want and if I reserve the privilege of paying for it myself, it does not seem to me a crime!” “Oh, do hush up, Sanford! You drive me frantic! You prate the same foolishness, over and over! I don’t want to hear any more about it. You said you had spoken the last word on the subject, now stop it! I, too, have said my final say. I shall do as I please, and I shall not consider myself accountable to you for my actions.” “Confound it! Do what you please, then! I wash my hands of your nonsense! But be careful how you carry the name I have given you!” “If you keep on, I may decide not to carry it at all--” Eunice was interrupted by the entrance of Ferdinand, announcing the arrival of Mason Elliott. Trained in the school of convention, both the Emburys became at once the courteous, cordial host and hostess. “Hello, Elliott,” sang out Sanford, “glad to see your bright and happy face. Come right along and chum in.” Eunice offered her hand with a welcoming smile. “Just the boy I was looking for,” she said, “we’ve the jolliest game on for the afternoon. Haven’t we, San?” “Fool trick, if you ask me! Howsumever, everything goes. Interested in thought-transference bunk, Elliott?” “I know what you’re getting at.” Mason Elliott nodded his head understandingly. “Hendricks put me wise. So, I says to myself, s’posin’ I hop along and listen in. Yes, I am interested, sufficiently so not to mind your jeers about bunk and that.” “Oh, do you believe in it, Mason?” said Eunice, animatedly; “for this is a faked affair--or, rather, the explanation of one. It’s the Hanlon boy, you know--” “Yes; I know. But what’s the racket with you two turtle-doves? I come in, and find Eunice wearing the pet expression of a tragedy queen and Sanford, here, doing the irate husband. Going into the movies?” “Yes, that’s it,” and Eunice smiled bravely, although her lips still quivered from her recent turbulent quarrel, and a light, jaunty air was forced to conceal her lingering nervousness. “Irate husband is good!” laughed Embury, “considering we are yet honeymooners.” “Good dissemblers, both of you,” and Elliott settled himself in an easy chair, “but you don’t fool your old friend. Talk about thought-transference--it doesn’t take much of that commodity to read that you two were interrupted by my entrance in the middle of a real, honest-to-goodness, cats’-and-dogs’ quarrel.” “All right, have it your own way,” and Embury laughed shortly; “but it wasn’t the middle of it, it was about over.”