He did not answer until he had collected his work materials. Then he said: "I should like to know just what these idle people do with themselves but I shall never have the time to find out." He vanished into Mary's office, banging the door. Beatrice telephoned that afternoon, only to be given her husband's message. "I'll drive out to the stockyards and get him," she proposed. "He went with some men and I don't believe I'd try it if I were you," Mary floundered. "I see. Well, have him call me up as soon as he comes in. It is very important." When Steve reached home that night he found Beatrice in a well-developed pout. "Didn't you get my message?" she demanded, sharply. "Just as I was leaving the office. I looked in there on--on my way back. I saw no use in telephoning then. What is it, dear?" "It's too late now. You have ruined my day." "Sorry. What is too late?" "I wanted you to go to Amityville with me; there is a wonderful astrologer there who casts life horoscopes. He predicted this whole war and the Bolsheviki and bombs and everything, and I wanted him to do ours. Alice Twill says he is positively uncanny." Steve shook his head. "No long-haired cocoanut throwers for mine," he said, briefly, unfolding his paper. "But I wanted you to go." "Well, I do not approve of such things; they are a waste of time and money." "I have my own money," she informed him, curtly. Steve laid aside the paper. "I have known that for some time." "Besides, it is rude to refuse to call me when I have asked you to do so. It makes me ridiculous in the eyes of your employees." Recalling the shift of offices Steve suppressed a smile. "It was nothing important, Bea, and I am mighty busy. Your father never had time to play; he worked a great deal harder than I have worked." "I can't help that. You must not expect me to be a little stay-at-home. You knew that before we were even engaged. Besides, I'm no child----" "No, but you act like one." He spoke almost before he thought. "You are a woman nearly twenty-six years old, yet you haven't the poise of girls eighteen that I have known. Still, they were farm or working girls. I've sometimes wondered what it is that makes you and your friends always seem so childish and naive--at times. Aren't you ever going to grow up--any of you?" "Do you want a pack of old women?" she demanded. "How can you find fault with my friends? You seem to forget how splendidly they have treated you." A cave man must be muzzled, handcuffed, and Under the anaesthetic of unreality and indifference to be a satisfactory husband for a modern Gorgeous Girl. "Why shouldn't they treat me splendidly? I have never robbed or maltreated any of them. Tell me something. It is time we talked seriously. We can't exist on the cream-puff kind of conversation. What in the world has your way of going through these finishing schools done for you?"