“Oh, well, never mind. I’m here now. It was papa who kept me. I’ve been discussing matrimony with him.” “In the abstract, or----” “Both. It began with the all too concrete Goldberg. Refusing him, I’m to marry an abstract Jew or the curse of Abraham will fall upon me.” “Be more precise, if you don’t mind,” he said seriously. She gave him a detailed account of the conversation, picturesquely satiric. Hugh listened sombrely, holding his stick with both hands behind his back, as they strolled slowly down among the fallen leaves. “So he’ll never consent,” she concluded. “I suppose we’ll have to wait until--well--the ordinary way of nature. He’s an old man.” “We mustn’t think of that, my child,” said Hugh, with some gentleness. “I don’t see why not. It will solve all our difficulties.” “What a mixture of flint and flesh you are, Minna,” he said, regarding her curiously. “I never pretend to love where I don’t,” she replied. “And when people thwart me I begin to dislike.” They walked on a little in silence, turned and retraced their steps. The dusk began to gather round them and the autumn mist to hang upon the thinning branches. Minna shivered a little and took his arm. “Why don’t you say something kind to me, Hugh dear?” she said, plaintively. He stooped and kissed her, and they went on their way less far apart than before. Presently she asked him where he was going to dine. “At the Merriams.” “I wish to goodness you wouldn’t!” she exclaimed, petulantly. “My dear girl, because I am secretly married to you, I am not going to give up my dearest and oldest friends.” “I hate them. You know I do.” “It’s a pity, my dear, but it can’t be helped. And haven’t we discussed this rather too often lately?” “You do very little to please me,” she said. “I would do anything in reason.” “If you loved me, you would not think of reason.” “Look here, Minna,” said Hugh, losing patience, “what do you want? Of course I love you. But as things are, I must lead my own life. If you were always with me, there would be modifications--naturally. I am getting as tired of this half and half state as you are. I was going soon to approach your father on the subject. But what you have told me this afternoon has somewhat disturbed my plans. We must wait a little longer. But in the meantime----” “I don’t mind waiting at all,” she interrupted. “It isn’t that.” “Well, what is it, dear, that I can do for you?” “I see so little of you--and you don’t seem to care. If you go on like this, I feel I shall grow to dislike you--and you are my husband--and oh, darling, I want you so sometimes!” All the seductive richness in her voice toned the last appeal. Hugh’s conscience pricked him. He had of late felt himself drifting far from her and had made no efforts to reapproach. Now, however, the pathetic and languorous appeal caused him to bend his head very tenderly. “Tell me what to do, sweetheart.” “Ah! you know,” she murmured. “The window?”