"I suppose I'll have to if you've promised her," he said with not ungracious reluctance. "I'm sure you'll like her as much as she'll like you," said Edward Ambrose. That remains to be seen was the mental reservation in the mind of the Sailor. XXV Friday week soon came, but very unfortunately it found Cora "in one of her moods." The first intimation she had of the dinner party was the arrival of a parcel of evening clothes, which Harry had purchased that morning in the Strand. As ladies were to be present, his sense of the fitness of things had led him at last to incur this long-promised expense. Indeed, Cora herself had said that sooner or later this would have to be. But now that the clothes had actually arrived and she insisted upon being told for what purpose they were required, she flew into a tantrum. In Cora's opinion, there had been too much dining already with this Mr. Ambrose, and now that Harry was being invited to meet ladies, had Mr. Ambrose been a true gentleman she would have been invited as well. It did not occur to her that he was not aware of her existence. But in any case Harry ought not to be going to meet other women without his wife. Cora became very sulky. And she mingled unamiability with abuse. The sad truth was, and her husband realized it with intense bitterness in the course of that afternoon, she had begun drinking heavily again in spite of all that he could do to check her. It was a failure of the will. There was no doubt life bored her. The restraints she had recently put upon herself, not in regard to drink alone, had become more than she could bear. For a week past she had known that another "break-out" was imminent. She was now inclined to make this dinner party to which she was not invited a pretext for it. "I see what it is," she said with ugly eyes. "Your lawful wife is not good enough for my lord Ambrose and his lady friends." This stung, it was so exactly the truth. "But don't think for a moment I am going to take it lying down. If you go to this party I'm coming too." "You can't," said her husband quietly--so quietly that it made her furious. "Oh, can't I!" "No, you can't," he said with a finality that offered no salve. He was angry with his own weakness. He knew that it had caused him to drift into a false position. And yet what could he do--with such a wife as that? "You're ashamed of me," she said, with baffled rage in her voice. "You've no right to say that." It was a feeble rejoinder, but silence would have been worse. "I am going to give you fair warning, Harry. If you go to this party and meet other women while I am left at home, I shall...." "You'll what?" he said, recoiling from her heavy breathing ugliness. "I shall go a good old blind tonight, I warn you." She spoke with full knowledge of the effort he had made to help her and all that it had cost him.