She tried to go on with her own dessert, but it seemed that each mouthful would choke her. She must have one word with Hugh before he left the house. She must make one final effort! She laid down her spoon listlessly as she looked up at Howard and Elinor. “I think I will leave you, too, children, if you don’t mind?” she queried, with her usual careful courtesy. But they were not the light steps with which she had entered the room but a short time before that Marjorie Benton followed her husband. Elinor and Howard stared at each other without uttering a word. It was Howard who first found voice. “Well, what do you know about that!” he exclaimed pityingly. “Poor mater—she didn’t even phase him, and it was at my advice she pulled herself together the way she did.” “It’s a shame, that’s what it is!” his sister replied angrily. “I’m surprised at Dad, and deeply disappointed. I thought he’d bubble over with joy and we should be a happy and congenial family at last.” “‘And they lived happy ever after’—that’s the way it always ends in the story-book. _Story_-book is good—only I should say plain _lie_.” With grim determination to make one final effort, Marjorie followed Hugh into the library after dinner, where he had gone with his cigar. “Hugh,” she ventured timidly, “must you go to this—stag affair to-night?” “Why?” he inquired, in a tone of surprise. “Because I should like you to take me to a—a theater.” “Oh, my dear Marjorie,” he laughed heartily, “you know well enough that you and I could never enjoy the same play. You’d pick out some prosaic sermon that would have me snoring inside of ten minutes, and I’d select a rattling musical comedy, the mere mention of which would cause you to turn up your nose disdainfully. No, just tell me the play you have in mind, and I’ll get you tickets for a matinée. You can take some lady friend.” “I haven’t any play in mind, Hugh, and I’m perfectly willing to attend any musical comedy you select,” answered his wife quietly. “Hmm!” Hugh was almost too bewildered to speak. “That is very nice of you, but I’m sorry I can’t break the engagement I have for this evening.” “How about to-morrow evening?” she asked intrepidly. “To-morrow night is my club night,” he answered coldly, “and besides, it is so long since we went anywhere together I have rather systemized my evenings to suit myself.” She flushed as she turned to go. But the thought of all that a misunderstanding with Hugh on this evening of evenings would mean, she determined on one more effort, cost what it might in pride. She came over and stood before him. “Hugh,” she offered diffidently, as might a child pleading for admiration, “I have changed my style of dress—especially to please you. Do you like it?” Her husband glanced at her casually. Then he picked up his gloves and started to draw them on. “Oh, it’s all right, I suppose,” was his comment, “but pray don’t inconvenience yourself in an effort to please me. You gave that up long ago.”