The blue of the rug was reproduced in every detail of the room. The, window, draperies, of thin, Oriental fabric, had bands of Chinese embroidered silk cunningly sewed on them. These bands carried out in the azure groundwork and the golden threads the motif of the rug. The cushions, which were everywhere in evidence, were made of the same embroidered silk which banded the window draperies, while blue strips of the same material were thrown carelessly over a teakwood table and, a chest of drawers. A chaise lounge of bamboo piled with cushions stood underneath the windows, which commanded a view of the rolling woodland and meadows I had found so beautiful. Three chairs of the same material completed the furnishings of the room, save for a wonderful Chinese screen reaching almost from the ceiling to the floor, which hid a single iron bed, painted white, of the type used in hospitals, a small bureau, also painted white, and a shaving mirror. "Don't want any junk about my sleeping quarters," Dicky explained, as I looked behind the screen. "Well, what do you think of it?" he demanded at last, in a hurt tone, as I finished my inspection of the walls, which were almost covered with the originals of Dicky's best magazine illustrations, framed in narrow, black strips of wood. "It is truly wonderful, Dicky," I returned, trying to make my voice enthusiastic. I could have raved over the room, for I did think it exquisitely beautiful, had not my woman's intuition detected that another hand than Dicky's had helped in its preparation. Only a woman's cunning fingers could have fashioned the curtains and the cushions I saw in profusion about the room. I knew her identity before Dicky, after pointing out in detail every article of which he was so proud, said hesitatingly: "I wish, Madge, you would telephone Miss Draper and ask her to run over tomorrow and see the room. You see, I was so anxious to surprise you that I did not want to have you do any of the work, and she kindly did all of this needlework for me. I know she is very curious to see how her work looks." "Of course, I will telephone Miss Draper if you wish it, Dicky, but don't you think you ought to do it yourself? She is your employee, not mine, and I never have seen her but twice in my life." I flatter myself that my voice was as calm as if I had not the slightest emotional interest in the topic I was discussing. But in reality I was furiously angry. And I felt that I had reason to be. "Now, that's a nice, catty thing to say!" Dicky exploded wrathfully. "Hope you feel better, now you've got it off your chest. And you can just trot right along and telephone her yourself. Gee! you haven't been a martyr for months, have you?" When Dicky takes that cutting, ironical tone, it fairly maddens me. I could not trust myself to speak, so I turned quickly and went out of the room which had become suddenly hateful to me, and found refuge in my own.