Murray was just sitting down to dinner, but Beckford insisted that he should return with him immediately. “You’ve got to straighten this matter out!” he told him excitedly. “You’ve got to give her all the insurance she wants without any restrictions! Make it fifty thousand dollars if she wants it! I’ll pay the premiums, if we have to starve!” “But I can’t give her a policy to-night!” protested Murray. “You can tell her about it to-night, can’t you?” demanded Beckford. “And you can take her application to-night, can’t you? Why, man, she has convinced herself that she’s going to die in a week! We can settle the details later, but we’ve got to do something to-night.” “Oh, well, I’ll come immediately after dinner,” said Murray. “You come now!” cried Beckford. “If you talk dinner to me, I’ll brain you! Insurance has made a wreck of me already.” “I haven’t been getting much joy out of this particular case myself,” grumbled Murray, but he went along. The moment he reached home, Beckford rushed to his wife’s room. “It’s all a mistake!” he exclaimed joyfully. “You—you mustn’t cry any more, dearest, for it’s all right now. Mr. Murray didn’t understand at first—thought you were one of these capricious, careless, thoughtless women that do all sorts of absurd and foolish things on impulse—but he knows better now. There aren’t any more restrictions for you than for me, and he’s waiting in the parlor to take your application for all the insurance you want.” “Really?” she asked, as the sobs began to subside. “Really.” “And there isn’t anything the matter with me?” “Of course not, sweetheart.” “Well,” she said, after a pause, “I can’t see him now, because my eyes are all red, but I wish he’d write that out for me. I’d feel so much more comfortable.” “Indeed he will,” asserted Beckford, “and we can fill out the application in here, and I’ll take it back to him.” Hopefully and happily the young husband returned to Murray and told him what was wanted. Murray sighed dismally. He had missed his dinner for a woman’s whim, and the woman was merely humiliating him. Still, he felt in a measure responsible for the trouble; he ought never to have resorted to duplicity, even for so laudable a purpose. So he wrote the following: “Investigation has convinced me that the restrictions mentioned this afternoon are unnecessary in your case, and I shall be glad to have your application for insurance on the same terms as your husband’s.” Mrs. Beckford read this over carefully. Then she read the application blank with equal care. After that she wrote at the bottom of the note: “Insurance has almost given me nervous prostration now, and I don’t want to have anything more to do with it. If Harry can stand the strain, let him have it all.” “Give him that, Harry,” she said, “and get rid of him as soon as possible, for I want you to come back and comfort me. I’m completely upset.”