“It’s looking out now,” said Clare. “Love of life instead of discontent. Love of this great throbbing human nature, with so much to be put right. Love of poor people, and little children, and brave hearts. Madge Vernon taught me that, for she has a soul bigger than the suffrage, and ideals that go beyond the vote. I have blown the cobwebs out of my eyes, Herbert. I see straight.” “How about _me?_” asked Herbert. “That’s what I want to know. Where do I come in?” “Oh, you come in all right!” said Clare. “You are a part of life and have a big share of my love.” “I don’t want to be shared up, thanks,” said Herbert. She stroked his hand. “I love you much better now that I see you with this new straight vision of mine. At any rate I love what is real in you and not what is sham. And I have learned the duties of love, Herbert. I believe I am a better wife to you. I think I have learned the meaning of marriage, and of married love.” She spoke with a touch of emotion, and there was a thrill in her voice. “You are in love with your social work and your whining beggars, not with me. You are getting farther and farther away from me. You leave me alone; I come back to a neglected home.” “Why, Mollie and mother look after it beautifully,” said Clare very cheerfully. Herbert gave expression to his grievances. “I come home and ask, ‘Where is Clare?’ and get the eternal answer, ‘Clare is out.’ I am an abandoned husband, and by Heaven I won’t stand it. I will----” “What, Herbert?” said Clare, smiling up at him. “Don’t do anything rash, old boy.” “I--have a good mind to make love to somebody else’s wife. But they’re all so beastly ugly!” “Perhaps somebody else’s wife won’t respond,” said Clare. “Some women are very cold.” “I’ll take to drink. I have already given mother full warning.” “I am sure it will disagree with you, dear,” said Clare. “You scoff at me,” said Herbert passionately. “I think we had better live apart.” “You would get even more bored than before. Dear old boy. _Do_ be reasonable. _Do_ cultivate a sense of humor.” “This is not a farce,” said Herbert. “It’s a horrible tragedy.” “Take up a hobby or something,” said Clare. “Golf--or fretwork.” Herbert was furious. “Fretwork! Is that a joke or an insult?” “It was only a suggestion!” said Clare. Herbert jumped up from his chair. “I had better go and drown myself straight away...”? He turned at the door, and gave a tragic look at his wife. “Good-by.” Clare smiled at him. “Won’t you kiss me before you go?” “I will take my pipe,” said Herbert, coming back to the mantelshelf. “It’s my only friend.” “It will go out in the water,” said Clare. “Besides, Herbert, don’t you want to hear my good news? My big surprise?” “No,” said Herbert. “Nothing you could say or do could surprise me now. If mother wants me I shall be in the study for the rest of the evening.” “But I thought you were going to the river?”, said Clare teasingly. Herbert was not to be amused.