"Don't you see what I mean," I grated, "or must I spell it out for you? Some time back, when we were considering all this civilized swapping of husbands and wives, I put in the order at Tiffany's for Virginia's birthday present. Today, when I picked it up, the clerk smirked at me--he knows your initials don't begin with V--and I suddenly knew I couldn't go ahead with the whole business. So I brought the brooch back to you as a trophy, if you want it. You can do what you like about it. It's yours. You see, Jimmie," I added, "that's the way things are. I'm burning all my bridges." "Oh!" she said. Then after a long pause, she added, "Ah!" "I don't think," she remarked, after another pause, "that I'll want to keep this and I'm far too fond of Virginia Rutherford to humiliate her. I think I'll just take this back to Tiffany's and get something else." So I had led trumps. "Here's something else to be going on with," I told her. "I got this for you, anyhow, win, lose or draw"--and I produced the gold bracelet. "I thought it would go with that dress and your cameo and--if you still want to wear it--your wedding ring." She cast quick glances from side to side, like a bird that suspects a snare. "It's good," she sighed. "Winnie, it's so good. I guess...." There was a knock at the door. It was Myrtle-Mary. "Will the master be staying for dinner, Mrs. Tompkins?" she asked. "Of course I will, Mary," I said. "Is there enough to eat?" "I'll see, sir," she replied in a manner which was practically an insult to us both. "And keep a civil tongue in your head," I added. She handed it back to me. "And keep your hands to yourself, sir," she said as she closed the door. "Winnie." It was Jimmie's hand restraining me, as I started up. "Let her go!" I said at last. "It's my fault, I guess. I haven't been happy and I did make a few passes. From now on, I'll try to be a bit more decent and livable. God knows I have plenty to be ashamed of, but nothing disgraceful ... I hope." "So do I," my wife began. "If you...." The telephone rang. She picked up the receiver and listened for a moment, frowning. "Yes, he's here," she said, passing me the instrument. "It's for you," she observed. "It's Virginia calling from New York and she sounds _most_ annoyed." CHAPTER 3 "Winnie!" The voice that crackled at me over the wire had all the implacable tenderness of a woman who has you in the wrong. "Yes, dear!" I answered automatically, with a passing thought for my own lost Dorothy, marooned in Washington with a job in the O.S.S. "What _is_ the matter?" the voice continued, in its litany of angry possessiveness. "What on _earth_ happened to you? I've been waiting for you since three o'clock." "Where have you been waiting?" "_Here_--of course. In our place. In New York. _Winnie, what's wrong?_" Not a pleasant spot to be in, even if it was only part of a trial-run in purgatory.