“Lazy dogs--all to get and nothing to do. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Julia.” “Oh, darlings, don't get cross with me!” cried Stella, in distress. The observance of the Unwritten Law had imperceptibly grown less strict as the influence of the sea-chamber had waned, and the poor quarrelsome pair were not at their old pains to hide their differences. “I never meant to talk socialism.” “My precious dove!” cried Sir Oliver, “who in the world said you did? It was your aunt.” “I believe it's John who is at the bottom of it, because he 's wearing a red tie,” Herold interposed, with a laugh. “Oh, John, where did you find it?” “I think it suits him beautifully,” declared Stella, quick to follow the red herring of a cravat. “It 's when he wears mauve or light blue or green striped with yellow that he goes wrong. Belovedest,--” she turned to him tenderly; she was placed between him and Sir Oliver,--“now that I am like everybody else,”--her favorite euphemism,--“do let me choose your ties for you.” “Of course, dear; of course,” said John, who had been eating _hors d'ouvre_ in glum silence. “Who is there with taste like you?” It would be entrancingly delectable to wear ties chosen by Stellamaris. Why, it would be coiling her sweet thoughts about his neck! This concession at least was harmless. Then suddenly he remembered that for the last two or three years Unity had taken charge of such details of his wardrobe, and he had sufficient glimmering of insight into feminine nature to know that between Unity with her domestic rights and a tigress with cubs there was remarkably little difference. How was he to abrogate one of her privileges? The gadfly question worried him. With such trumpery concerns are the deepest emotions of human life complicated. He who does not recognize them has no sense of values. The conjugal wrangle having been checked, the meal proceeded gaily enough. Stella spoke of the play and praised Herold's acting, but with curious shyness avoided discussion of the theme. Herold noticed her adroit detours. He also noticed, with a sensitive man's pain, many other little things indicative of the awakening of Stellamaris. Once he saw her lay her hand impulsively on John's, as she had been wont to do since her childhood, and draw it quickly away, while a flush, like a rose-edged fairy cloud, came and went in her cheek. He also caught her glancing covertly at John, her brow knitted in a tiny frown, as though she wondered at his unusual silence. When the party broke up, John leaving early, owing to pressure of work at the office, she said: “I shall see you to-night, of course?” “I'm afraid not. I have to see the review through the press.” Her face fell piteously. “Oh, Belovedest!” she cried. “And I can't have Walter, because he's tied to his theatre.” But the disappointment was on account of John, not on account of Herold. “You 'll have Walter most of the afternoon,” remarked Lady Blount.