He often thought a woman didn't seem exactly a person--that is, not like him, and he was certainly a person--but something else; just as good, perhaps, but quite other. Her body, of course--well, agreeable as it might be, still he was glad he wasn't made that way, for it seemed so ineffective. And one of them could stand a good man on his head. He simply couldn't get the hang of that. If a man was angry and sulked, he didn't mind. In fact, he preferred it to being knocked about as the big fellow sometimes did to him. He had never cared what man sulked, his brother or father or any of them. And yet this woman, she----he looked at her intently, earnestly, as if finally to solve her--she was very beautiful. And she was his wife. He crept into bed, very softly, for she might wake up. But then, it briefly occurred to him, what if she did! He was perfectly sober--at least to all intents and purposes. He could talk perfectly straight; he felt sure of that. Perhaps she would now wake of her own accord. That would be the best solution, and then he could appear drowsy, as if he, too, had just been aroused from sleep. He sighed loudly and turned himself over in the bed, but she gave no sign. "Georgia," he whispered very low. Pause. "Georgia," a little louder, "are you awake?" No answer. He touched her, as if carelessly. She stirred. Ah, she would--no, her breathing was markedly the breathing of slumber. Perhaps she was pretending. Oh, well, what was the use of his trying, if she was going to act so? He turned noisily back to his side of the bed. He was disappointed in her. Was it fair of her to pretend--if she was pretending? After all, she was his wife. A husband has his rights. That was what the church said. Otherwise, what was the use of getting married and supporting a woman--well, most men supported their wives, and he intended to do so again soon, very soon. Yes, he had the teachings on his side. He wanted nothing beyond the bond. It was holy wedlock, wasn't it? He placed his hand upon her waist. And yet she would give no sign. More resolutely than before she counterfeited the presentment of sleep. "Georgia!" he spoke aloud. "What is it!" she said, quickly, sitting up, her black braids falling back on her slim shoulders. "I just wanted to say good night," he muttered, huskily. "Good night," she answered, curtly. "Please don't disturb me again. I am very tired." She was turning from him, when he placed his hand on her shoulder. "Georgia, I love you. You know I do." The foulness of his poisoned breath filled her with loathing. "No, Jim," she gasped, afraid. "Oh, no!" "Georgia, you dunno how I love you," he pleaded, almost tearfully, taking her in his arms. Quickly she jumped from the bed. "Where are you going?" asked the annoyed husband.