And when Rosalind came in and they sat at the table and he looked across to her shyly, almost like a boy, he wished he knew what would please her best. He could not keep his eyes off her hand as it grasped the handle of the teapot and poured his tea. It seemed such a mysterious hand with the roughened finger pricks--and the little gentle hand inside that did no work. He wanted to take the hand, to touch it.... Of course, a man would not take his wife’s hand--like that. He could see the startled look in Rosalind’s eyes if he should reach out.... There was a long road to travel--and he did not know the way. But he could begin softly with clothes--and touch her hand later perhaps. She should have beautiful things------He had told her to buy the fur-lined coat. He pictured her in it--the coat that _his_ money should buy--he saw her wrapped in it, and he sat still thinking of her and of the coat his money should buy. Then the door opened and he looked up. She was standing in the door--and about her was a long grey coat lined with fur--the coat of the alcove. Her eyes looked at him over the soft fur of the collar. He sprang to his feet--then he checked the word on his lip. He must not let her speak. It was the coat of the alcove. She would wear it silently. But she would not tell him. She must not be frightened into saying something that was not true. He came over to her and touched the edge of the fur, as if questioning it, and she smiled and opened it out. “Is it warm enough?” she asked proudly. She stood with the garment extended like wings, and he held his breath. Then she drew it together softly. “I have had it some time,” she said. “I was keeping it to surprise you!” His breath came quick. How much would she tell him? He looked at it critically. “Was it a bargain?” he asked.. “No--Not a bargain.” And she stroked the edge of the fur. “I saw it and liked it--and I got it.” “That’s right. That’s the way to buy all your clothes.” He looked at it a minute lightly and turned away. She could not have guessed from his gesture that he was disappointed, but her eyes followed him. “I hope you won’t think I paid too much--for it?” “What did you pay?” he asked. His back was toward her. “I paid--two hundred dollars,” she said. The words came lightly, and there was a little pause. “No, I don’t think that was too much.” He had turned and was looking at her--straight. “I would have paid more than two hundred--to give it to you,” he said slowly. She made no reply, but her eyes regarded him gravely over the edge of the collar. Wrapped in the coat, she seemed for a moment the woman of the alcove. He looked at her blindly. She returned the look a minute--and turned away slowly and went out. Eldridge walked to the table and stood looking down.... He had given her, in all, not more than two hundred and fifty dollars. Did she expect him--to believe--that all the things that had come into the house since had not cost more than fifty dollars?