One morning at the breakfast table Cutter looked at his wife appraisingly. They had been married eleven years. She was still pretty, but it was a beauty maturing into a sort of serenity, no vivacity. She had, in fact, a noble look. Stupid women do frequently get it. He had long since made up his mind that Helen was, to say the least of it, mentally prismatic. She had no elasticity of charm. Still he resolved to risk her. “Helen, Shippen gets in from New York this afternoon. I want to bring him out here for dinner. Do you think you can manage it?” he asked. “The dinner? Why, yes, of course, George,” she replied, having no doubt about being able to manage a dinner. This Mr. Shippen could not possibly be more exacting than George was himself. “He is coming down to look at that pyrites mine I want to sell. We are going to get into this war, and the Government is bound to need pyrites. Shippen is tremendously rich, something of a sport, I imagine. He was rather nice to me when I was in New York last month, introduced me to a lot of men I need to know,” he explained. “So you must help me out by doing your best,” he added significantly. “I will, dear,” she assured him, still unperturbed. This serene confidence disturbed him. He doubted if she could put across the simplest meal in a correct manner. During the lifetime of his mother, his father had entertained such out-of-town guests; but these excellent parents had been dead for years. He was obliged to fall back on Helen. “You must do your best and look your best. You are lovely, you know.” “Am I?” she asked, not coquettishly, but as if this was an opportunity to assure herself about something which was causing her anxiety. “Yes, of course, you are,” he returned in a matter-of-fact tone. This was no time to get personal with his wife. He wanted her to do something and do it well. “Wear that gown I bought you from Madame Lily’s,” he suggested. “Oh! must I?” she exclaimed as if she asked, Would it be as bad as that? “The very thing, and wear the necklace.” She said she would, but what she thought was that if she must dress like this she could not stay in the kitchen and help Maria with the dinner, and Maria was not to be trusted. She was “heavy handed” when it came to salt, for example. Her chief concern was for the dinner, not herself. She always missed her cue. Nevertheless, Shippen had the shock of his swift life when he was presented to Mrs. Cutter that evening.