“Perhaps you’d better,” he agreed, still laughing. “Don’t let him see the joke’s on him till we get back to the clubhouse, though. If he asks you about it, don’t tell him till then;—I want to get away first.” “Yes,” she assented, thoughtfully. “Perhaps that would be just as well.” XXXI THE ANNIVERSARY DINNER WHEN he got home from the country club, something less than an hour later, his wife told him coldly that he seemed to be in high spirits. “You appear to have the happy faculty of not being depressed by the troubles of people close to you,” she added. “However, your gaiety may be useful this evening, at Mother’s.” “At your mother’s?” he inquired. “Are we going there?” She looked at him sternly. “What have you been doing that makes you forget such a thing? It’s Father’s and Mother’s thirty-eighth wedding anniversary.” “So it is!” he exclaimed. “I’d forgotten all about it.” “Obviously. You’d better hurry and dress, because the dinner’s to be very early on account of the younger grandchildren;—I sent them half an hour ago.” And, as he did not move, she added, “Please get ready right away.” He still hesitated, for in his absorption in his plan to atone to his sister-in-law and take up Anne’s challenge he had forgotten more than the anniversary dinner. He had forgotten to consider in what terms he would eventually inform his wife of that plan and what already appeared to be its successful beginnings. The present seemed to be a wise time to say something about it; but he found himself in a difficulty. Face to face with his wife, especially in her present state of mind, which was plainly still critical of him, he was convinced that she would prove unsympathetic. He decided to postpone all explanations, at least until they were on their way to his father-in-law’s house. But, alone in the car with her, when the postponed moment seemed to have arrived, he found the difficulty no less discouraging. He made an effort, however; but he put it off so long that when he made it they were almost at their destination. “Oh, about that interview I’m supposed to have with old John, to-morrow morning——” “Yes,” she said. “When he asks you why you didn’t join him and Julietta at the club this afternoon, you’ll not weaken, I trust.” “‘Weaken’?” “Oh, you’ll protest _now_ that you won’t, I know,” she said. “But men are sympathetic—with other men, especially in ‘affairs’—and John’s terribly sensitive. I shouldn’t be surprised if you failed to carry it through. I shouldn’t at all!” “But—but of course I shall,” Hobart said, before he knew what he was saying. It was not what he wished to say; but he found himself apparently without control of his own speech, for the moment; and he realized that it would now be more difficult than ever to make the needed explanation. He attempted it feebly, however. “That is to say——” he began. “I mean—ah—suppose such an interview shouldn’t——” The car stopped.