They “went out” as befitted young married people and entertained in turn. But Dan paid no heed to Lorraine’s friends. Perhaps he was conscious of their thoughts. He managed to stay away whenever Lorraine had in “a bunch” and when they attended dancing parties or automobile picnics, he always left the women and drifted with the men to smoke or talk business even when the men would have chosen to play a little. Dan was determined to keep up the deceit to himself as much as to Lorraine. He gave her all she asked for—but he never thought of a surprise, a reward, a consolation posy when rain prevented a drive or a bruised finger was the result of trying to hammer a nail in straight. None of the tender trifles fell to her lot. And the old, fiery Dan, who was “bound to be hung,” as the village had prophesied, went his way in his own fashion, brooking neither interference nor questioning. When the new and high-priced talking machine was sent up to the house the day before Christmas, Lorraine had hesitated before she read the titles of the records. She fully expected to see “Sung by Thurley Precore” on the greater share of them. But Dan had chosen with stoic consideration and Thurley’s voice was never recreated to fill their rooms with glorious but unwelcome sound. Nor did any one mention Thurley to Dan. A few of the old-timers would say when occasion offered, “You got a pretty fine little wife,” and Dan would nod cheerfully and answer, “Bet I have!” And here the matter ended. Once, Lorraine’s father, who had wisely chosen to live apart from his son-in-law’s splendor, called on Lorraine during Dan’s absence out of town and said in his slow way, “Well, my girl, have you anything to tell me?” Lorraine was engaged in making “over-drapes” for the spare room which was to be in pink. She was the sort who could smother a heartache in making over-drapes and planning color schemes as reflected in candle-shades, braided rugs and embroidered bed-shams. “Tell you what, father?” she did not look at him. “Is he happy?” the old man added, which surprised her for she thought he would have asked if she was happy. “I hope so,” she told him, laying aside the over-drapes. “You’re a good girl, Lorraine, and you are doing your part. If God sees fit, some day you will be happy, too.” They said no more about the matter. After he left and Lorraine, like all wives whose husbands are out of town, was eating her cold lunch off the kitchen table, she neglected her meal to wonder about the prophecy. It seemed to her, rank little atheist, that it was not God who was to see fit half as much as a girl named Thurley Precore!