Mrs. Wilson surprised her friends by returning to town and reopening her house for the consecration week. She announced to her husband her intention of doing this as they sat in the library at their country place while Dr. Wilson smoked his final pipe for the night. They had been dining out, and had driven home in the moonlight, chatting of the people they had seen and the gossip they had heard. Elsie was in high spirits, amusing her husband by her satirical remarks. At last she said:-- "I hope, Chauncy, you won't mind if I go off for a week." "Off for a week? Where are you going?" "Into town to open the house for the consecration of the great Bishop Strathmore." "Well," her husband said, laughing, "I like your grit. If you can't win, you won't show the white feather." She laughed in turn, as gleefully and as musically as a child. "I'm going for revenge." "Oh, that's it. Is Rangely to die?" "Pooh, it isn't Rangely. He's too insignificant. I can snub him any time. It's better fun than that." "Well, let's hear." "You know that Marion Delegass is to end her season with a week in Boston." "Well? You are not going to Boston to see her, are you? You've seen her in Paris and New York enough to last, I should think." "Oh, no; I'm going to meet her." "Marion Delegass, the most notoriously disreputable actress even on the French stage? Well, she'll be a change from your parsons." "Luckily her last week is the week of the consecration of the heathen." "Is she to take part?" "Don't be flippant. I am to give Mlle. Delegass a luncheon. I've arranged it by letter. By one of the most curious coincidences in the world it comes on the very day of the consecration." "That is amusing, but I don't see that it's much of a revenge." "No?" Elsie responded demurely, casting down her eyes. "I am so sorry that Mrs. Strathmore can't come." "Mrs. Strathmore? You didn't ask her!" "Why, of course, Chauncy, I wanted to show that I hadn't any ill feeling against the family of my bishop." "To meet Marion Delegass?" "Of course. I thought it would liven Mrs. Strathmore up a little. She always reminded me of water-gruel with not enough salt in it." Dr. Wilson burst into a roar of laughter, leaning back in his chair and slapping his knee. "Marion Delegass! Why she's left more husbands and lovers behind her than a sailor has wives! Marion Delegass and that prig in petticoats! Well, Elsie, you do beat the devil!" "Am I to understand that you know His Satanic Majesty well enough to speak with authority?" she laughed. "What do you think now of my revenge?" "I don't exactly see where the revenge comes in. She won't come to the lunch." "Come? Oh, no; thank Heaven, she won't come. She'd be like a death's head in a punch-bowl. She won't come, but she'll tell that she was invited. She'll be too furious not to tell; and everybody will know that I asked her. That's all I care about." Wilson laughed again.