A MODERN CHRONICLE

By Winston Churchill

BOOK II

Volume 3. 

CHAPTER I

SO LONG AS YE BOTH SHALL LIVE!

It was late November. And as Honora sat at the window of the drawing-roomof the sleeping car, life seemed as fantastic and unreal as the moss-hungSouthern forest into which she stared. She was happy, as a child is happywho is taken on an excursion into the unknown. The monotony of existencewas at last broken, and riven the circumscribing walls. Limitlesspossibilities lay ahead. 

The emancipation had not been without its pangs of sorrow, and there weremoments of retrospection--as now. She saw herself on Uncle Tom's arm, walking up the aisle of the old church. How many Sundays of her life hadshe sat watching a shaft of sunlight strike across the stone pillars ofits gothic arches! She saw, in the chancel, tall and grave and pale, Peter Erwin standing beside the man with the flushed face who was to beher husband. She heard again the familiar voice of Dr. Ewing reciting thewords of that wonderful introduction. At other weddings she had beenmoved. Why was her own so unrealizable?

 "Honora, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy state of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

She had promised. And they were walking out of the church, facing thegreat rose window with its blended colours, and the vaults above wereringing now with the volume of an immortal march. 

After that an illogical series of events and pictures passed before her. She was in a corner of the carriage, her veil raised, gazing at herhusband, who had kissed her passionately. He was there beside her, looking extremely well in his top hat and frock-coat, with a white flowerin his buttonhole. He was the representative of the future she haddeliberately chosen. And yet, by virtue of the strange ceremony throughwhich they had passed, he seemed to have changed. In her attempt to seizeupon a reality she looked out of the window. They were just passing theHanbury mansion in Wayland Square, and her eyes fell upon the playroomwindows under the wide cornice; and she wondered whether the doll's housewere still in its place, its mute inhabitants waiting to be called by thenames she had given them, and quickened into life once more. 

Next she recalled the arrival at the little house that had been her home, summer and winter, for so many years of her life. A red and white awning, stretching up the length of the walk which once had run beside the tallpear trees, gave it an unrecognizable, gala air. Long had it stood there, patient, unpretentious, content that the great things should pass it by!And now, modest still, it had been singled out from amongst itsneighbours and honoured. Was it honoured? It seemed to Honora, sofanciful this day, that its unwonted air of festival was unnatural. Whyshould the hour of departure from such a harbour of peace be celebrated?

She was standing beside her husband in the little parlour, while carriagedoors slammed in the dusk outside; while one by one--a pageant of thepast which she was leaving forever the friends of her childhood came andwent. Laughter and tears and kisses! And then, in no time at all, shefound herself changing for the journey in the "little house under thehill. " There, locked up in the little desk Cousin Eleanor had given herlong ago, was the unfinished manuscript of that novel written at feverheat during those summer days in which she had sought to escape from ahumdrum existence. And now--she had escaped. Aunt Mary, helpful under themost trying circumstances, was putting her articles in a bag, theinitials on which she did not recognize--H. L. S. --Honora LeffingwellSpence; while old Catherine, tearful and inefficient, knelt before her, fumbling at her shoes. Honora, bending over, took the face of thefaithful old servant and kissed it. 

"Don't feel badly, Catherine, " she said; "I'll be coming back often tosee you, and you will be coming to see me. "

"Will ye, darlint? The blessing of God be on you for those words--and youto be such a fine lady! It always was a fine lady ye were, with such afamily and such a bringin' up. And now ye've married a rich man, as isright and proper. If it's rich as Croesus he was, he'd be none too goodfor you. "

"Catherine, " said Aunt Mary, reprovingly, "what ideas you put into thechild's head!"

"Sure, Miss Mary, " cried Catherine, "it's always the great lady she was, and she a wee bit of a thing. And wasn't it yerself, Miss Mary, thatdressed her like a princess?"

Then came the good-bys--the real ones. Uncle Tom, always the friend ofyoung people, was surrounded by a group of bridesmaids in the hall. Sheclung to him. And Peter, who had the carriage ready. What would herwedding have been without Peter? As they drove towards the station, hiswas the image that remained persistently in her mind, bareheaded on thesidewalk in the light of the carriage lamps. The image of struggle. 

She had married Prosperity. A whimsical question, that shocked her, irresistibly presented itself: was it not Prosperity that she hadpromised to love, honour, and obey?

It must not be thought that Honora was by any means discontented with herProsperity. He was new--that was all. Howard looked new. But sheremembered that he had always looked new; such was one of his greatestcharms. In the long summer days since she had bade him good-by on her waythrough New York from Silverdale, Honora had constructed him: he wasperpetual yet sophisticated Youth; he was Finance and Fashion; he wasPower in correctly cut clothes. And when he had arrived in St. Louis toplay his part in the wedding festivities, she had found her swan a swanindeed--he was all that she had dreamed of him. And she had tingled withpride as she introduced him to her friends, or gazed at him across theflower-laden table as he sat beside Edith Hanbury at the bridesmaids'dinner in Wayland Square. 

The wedding ceremony had somehow upset her opinion of him, but Honoraregarded this change as temporary. Julius Caesar or George Washingtonhimself must have been somewhat ridiculous as bridegrooms: and she hadthe sense to perceive that her own agitations as a bride were partlyresponsible. No matter how much a young girl may have trifled with thatelectric force in the male sex known as the grand passion, she shrinksfrom surrendering herself to its dominion. Honora shrank. He made love toher on the way to the station, and she was terrified. He actually forgotto smoke cigarettes. What he said was to the effect that he possessed atlast the most wonderful and beautiful woman in the world, and sheresented the implication of possession. 

Nevertheless, in the glaring lights of the station, her courage and herpride in him revived, and he became again a normal and a marked man. Although the sex may resent it, few women are really indifferent toclothes, and Howard's well-fitting check suit had the magic touch of themetropolis. His manner matched his garments. Obsequious porters graspedhis pig-skin bag, and seized Honora's; the man at the gate inclined hishead as he examined their tickets, and the Pullman conductor himselfshowed them their stateroom, and plainly regarded them as importantpeople far from home. Howard had the cosmopolitan air. He gave the man adollar, and remarked that the New Orleans train was not exactly theChicago and New York Limited. 

"Not by a long shot, " agreed the conductor, as he went out, softlyclosing the door behind him. 

Whereupon the cosmopolitan air dropped from Mr. Howard Spence, notgracefully, and he became once more that superfluous and awkward andutterly banal individual, the husband. 

"Let's go out and walk on the platform until the train starts, " suggestedHonora, desperately. "Oh, Howard, the shades are up! I'm sure I saw someone looking in!"

He laughed. But there was a light in his eyes that frightened her, andshe deemed his laughter out of place. Was he, after all, an utterlydifferent man than what she had thought him? Still laughing, he held toher wrist with one hand, and with the other pulled down the shades. 

"This is good enough for me, " he said. "At last--at last, " he whispered, "all the red tape is over, and I've got you to myself! Do you love mejust a little, Honora?"

"Of course I do, " she faltered, still struggling, her face burning asfrom a fire. 

"Then what's the matter?" he demanded. 

"I don't know--I want air. Howard, please let me go. It's-it's so hotinhere. You must let me go. "

Her release, she felt afterwards, was due less to a physical than amental effort. She seemed suddenly to have cowed him, and his resistancebecame enfeebled. She broke from him, and opened the door, and reachedthe cement platform and the cold air. When he joined her, there wassomething jokingly apologetic about his manner, and he was smoking acigarette; and she could not help thinking that she would have respectedhim more if he had held her. 

"Women beat me, " he said. "They're the most erratic stock in the market. "

It is worthy of remark how soon the human, and especially the femininebrain adjusts itself to new conditions. In a day or two life became realagain, or rather romantic. 

For the American husband in his proper place is an auxiliary who makesall things possible. His ability to "get things done, " before it ceasesto be a novelty, is a quality to be admired. Honora admired. Anintimacy--if the word be not too strong--sprang up between them. Theywandered through the quaint streets of New Orleans, that most foreign ofAmerican cities, searching out the tumbledown French houses; and Honorawas never tired of imagining the romances and tragedies which must havetaken place in them. The new scenes excited her, --the quaint cafes withtheir delicious, peppery Creole cooking, --and she would sit talking for aquarter of an hour at a time with Alphonse, who outdid himself to pleasethe palate of a lady with such allure. He called her "Madame"; but wellhe knew, this student of human kind, that the title had not been of longduration. 

Madame came from New York, without doubt? such was one of his questions, as he stood before them in answer to Howard's summons, rubbing his hands. And Honora, with a little thrill, acknowledged the accuracy of his guess. There was no dish of Alphonse's they did not taste. And Howard smilinglypaid the bills. He was ecstatically proud of his wife, and although hedid justice to the cooking, he cared but little for the mysteriouscourtyards, the Spanish buildings, and the novels of Mr. George W. Cable, which Honora devoured when she was too tired to walk about. He followedher obediently to the battle field of New Orleans, and admired asobediently the sunset, when the sky was all silver-green through themagnolias, and the spreading live oaks hung with Spanish moss, and asilver bar lay upon the Father of Waters. Honora, with beating heart andflushed cheeks, felt these things: Howard felt them through her andwatched--not the sunset--but the flame it lighted in her eyes. 

He left her but twice a day, and then only for brief periods. He evenfelt a joy when she ventured to complain. 

"I believe you care more for those horrid stocks than for me, " she said. "I--I am just a novelty. "

His answer, since they were alone in their sitting-room, was obvious. 

"Howard, " she cried, "how mean of you! Now I'll have to do my hair allover again. I've got such a lot of it--you've no idea how difficult itis. "

"You bet I have!" he declared meaningly, and Honora blushed. 

His pleasure of possession was increased when people turned to look ather on the street or in the dining room--to think that this remarkablecreature was in reality his wife! Nor did the feeling grow less intensewith time, being quite the same when they arrived at a fashionable resortin the Virginia mountains, on their way to New York. For such were theexactions of his calling that he could spare but two weeks for hishoneymoon. 

Honora's interest in her new surroundings was as great, and the sight ofthose towering ridges against the soft blue of the autumn skies inspiredher. It was Indian summer here, the tang of wood smoke was in the air; inthe valleys--as they drove--the haze was shot with the dust of gold, andthrough the gaps they looked across vast, unexplored valleys to otherdistant, blue-stained ridges that rose between them and the sunset. Honora took an infinite delight in the ramshackle cabins beside thered-clay roads, in the historic atmosphere of the ancient houses andporticoes of the Warm Springs, where the fathers of the Republic had cometo take the waters. And one day, when a north wind had scattered thesmoke and swept the sky, Howard followed her up the paths to the ridge'screst, where she stood like a Victory, her garments blowing, gazing offover the mighty billows to the westward. Howard had never seen a Victory, but his vision of domesticity was untroubled. 

Although it was late in the season, the old-fashioned, rambling hotel waswell filled, and people interested Honora as well as scenery--a proof ofher human qualities. She chided Howard because he, too, was not moresocially inclined. 

"How can you expect me to be--now?" he demanded. 

She told him he was a goose, although secretly admitting the justice ofhis defence. He knew four or five men in the hotel, with whom he talkedstocks while waiting for Honora to complete her toilets; and he gatheredfrom two of these, who were married, that patience was a necessaryqualification in a husband. One evening they introduced their wives. Later, Howard revealed their identity--or rather that of the husbands. 

"Bowker is one of the big men in the Faith Insurance Company, and Tyleris president of the Gotham Trust. " He paused to light a cigarette, andsmiled at her significantly. "If you can dolly the ladies along once in awhile, Honora, it won't do any harm, " he added. "You have a way with you, you know, --when you want to. "

Honora grew scarlet. 

"Howard!" she exclaimed. 

He looked somewhat shamefaced. 

"Well, " he said, "I was only joking. Don't take it seriously. But itdoesn't do any harm to be polite. "

"I am always polite, " she answered a little coldly. 

Honeymoons, after all, are matters of conjecture, and what proportion ofthem contain disenchantments will never be known. Honora lay awake for along time that night, and the poignant and ever recurring remembrance ofher husband's remark sent the blood to her face like a flame. WouldPeter, or George Hanbury, or any of the intimate friends of her childhoodhave said such a thing?

A new and wistful feeling of loneliness was upon her. For some days, witha certain sense of isolation and a tinge of envy which she would notacknowledge, she had been watching a group of well-dressed, clean-lookingpeople galloping off on horseback or filling the six-seated buckboards. They were from New York--that she had discovered; and they did not mixwith the others in the hotel. She had thought it strange that Howard didnot know them, but for a reason which she did not analyze she hesitatedto ask him who they were. They had rather a rude manner of staring--especially the men--and the air of deriving infinite amusement fromthat which went on about them. One of them, a young man with a lisp whowas addressed by the singular name of "Toots, " she had overhearddemanding as she passed: who the deuce was the tall girl with the darkhair and the colour? Wherever she went, she was aware of them. It wasfoolish, she knew, but their presence seemed--in the magnitude whichtrifles are wont to assume in the night-watches--of late to have poisonedher pleasure. 

Enlightenment as to the identity of these disturbing persons came, thenext day, from an unexpected source. Indeed, from Mrs. Tyler. She lovedbrides, she said, and Honora seemed to her such a sweet bride. It wasMrs. Tyler's ambition to become thin (which was hitching her wagon to astar with a vengeance), and she invited our heroine to share herconstitutional on the porch. Honora found the proceeding in the nature ofan ordeal, for Mrs. Tyler's legs were short, her frizzled hair veryblond, and the fact that it was natural made it seem, somehow, all themore damning. 

They had scarcely begun to walk before Honora, with a sense of dismay ofwhich she was ashamed, beheld some of the people who had occupied herthoughts come out of the door and form a laughing group at the end of theporch. She could not rid herself of the feeling that they were laughingat her. She tried in vain to drive them from her mind, to listen to Mrs. Tyler's account of how she, too, came as a bride to New York from someplace with a classical name, and to the advice that accompanied thenarration. The most conspicuous young woman in the group, in ridingclothes, was seated on the railing, with the toe of one boot on theground. Her profile was clear-cut and her chestnut hair tightly knottedbehind under her hat. Every time they turned, this young woman stared atHonora amusedly. 

"Nasty thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Tyler, suddenly and unexpectedly in themidst of a description of the delights of life in the metropolis. 

"Who?" asked Honora. 

"That young Mrs. Freddy Maitland, sitting on the rail. She's the rudestwoman in New York. "

A perversity of spirit which she could not control prompted Honora toreply:

"Why, I think she is so good-looking, Mrs. Tyler. And she seems to haveso much individuality and independence. "

"There!" cried Mrs. Tyler, triumphantly. "Once--not so very long ago--Iwas just as inexperienced as you, my dear. She belongs to that horriblyfast set with which no self-respecting woman would be seen. It's anoutrage that they should come to a hotel like this and act as though itbelonged to them. She knows me quite as well as I know her, but when I amface to face she acts as though I was air. "

Honora could not help thinking that this, at least, required someimagination on Mrs. Maitland's part. Mrs. Tyler had stopped for breath. 

"I have been introduced to her twice, " she continued, "but of course Iwouldn't speak to her. The little man with the lisp, next to her, who isalways acting in that silly way, they call Toots Cuthbert. He gets hisname in the newspapers by leading cotillons in New York and Newport. Andthe tall, slim, blond one, with the green hat and the feather in it, isJimmy Wing. He's the son of James Wing, the financier. "

"I went to school at Sutcliffe with his sister, " said Honora. 

It seemed to Honora that Mrs. Tyler's manner underwent a change. 

"My dear, " she exclaimed, "did you go to Sutcliffe? What a wonderfulschool it is! I fully intend to send my daughter Louise there. "

An almost irresistible desire came over Honora to run away. She excusedherself instead, and hurried back towards her room. On the way she metHoward in the corridor, and he held a telegram in his hand. 

"I've got some bad news, Honora, " he said. "That is, bad from the pointof view of our honeymoon. Sid Dallam is swamped with business, and wantsme in New York. I'm afraid we've got to cut it short. "

To his astonishment she smiled. 

"Oh, I'm so glad, Howard, " she cried. "I--I don't like this place nearlyso well as New Orleans. There are--so many people here. "

He looked relieved, and patted her on the arm. 

"We'll go to-night, old girl, " he said. 

CHAPTER II

"STAFFORD PARK"

There is a terrifying aspect of all great cities. Rome, with itsleviathan aqueducts, its seething tenements clinging to the hills, itscruel, shining Palatine, must have overborne the provincial travellercoming up from Ostia. And Honora, as she stood on the deck of theferry-boat, approaching New York for the second time in her life, couldnot overcome a sense of oppression. It was on a sharp December morning, and the steam of the hurrying craft was dazzling white in the early sun. Above and beyond the city rose, overpowering, a very different city, somehow, than that her imagination had first drawn. Each of thatmultitude of vast towers seemed a fortress now, manned by Celt and Hunand, Israelite and Saxon, captained by Titans. And the strife betweenthem was on a scale never known in the world before, a strife with modernarms and modern methods and modern brains, in which there was no mercy. 

Hidden somewhere amidst those bristling miles of masonry to the northwardof the towers was her future home. Her mind dwelt upon it now, for thefirst time, and tried to construct it. Once she had spoken to Howard ofit, but he had smiled and avoided discussion. What would it be like tohave a house of one's own in New York? A house on Fifth Avenue, as hergirl friends had said when they laughingly congratulated her and beggedher to remember that they came occasionally to New York. Those of us who, like Honora, believe in Providence, do not trouble ourselves with merematters of dollars and cents. This morning, however, the huge materialtowers which she gazed upon seemed stronger than Providence, and shethought of her husband. Was his fibre sufficiently tough to becomeeventually the captain of one of those fortresses, to compete with theMaitlands and the Wings, and others she knew by name, calmly andefficiently intrenched there?

The boat was approaching the slip, and he came out to her from the cabin, where he had been industriously reading the stock reports, his newspapersthrust into his overcoat pocket. 

"There's no place like New York, after all, " he declared, and added, "when the market's up. We'll go to a hotel for breakfast. "

For some reason she found it difficult to ask the question on her lips. 

"I suppose, " she said hesitatingly, "I suppose we couldn't go--home, Howard. You--you have never told me where we are to live. "

As before, the reference to their home seemed to cause him amusement. Hebecame very mysterious. 

"Couldn't you pass away a few hours shopping this morning, my dear?"

"Oh, yes, " replied Honora. 

"While I gather in a few dollars, " he continued. "I'll meet you at lunch, and then we'll go-home. "

As the sun mounted higher, her spirits rose with it. New York, or thatstrip of it which is known to the more fortunate of human beings, is aplace to raise one's spirits on a sparkling day in early winter. AndHonora, as she drove in a hansom from shop to shop, felt a new sense ofelation and independence. She was at one, now, with the prosperity thatsurrounded her: her purse no longer limited, her whims existing only tobe gratified. Her reflections on this recently attained state alternatedwith alluring conjectures on the place of abode of which Howard had madesuch a mystery. Where was it? And why had he insisted, before showing itto her, upon waiting until afternoon?

Newly arrayed in the most becoming of grey furs, she met him at thathitherto fabled restaurant which in future days--she reflected--was tobecome so familiar--Delmonico's. Howard was awaiting her in thevestibule; and it was not without a little quiver of timidity andexcitement and a consequent rise of colour that she followed the waiterto a table by the window. She felt as though the assembled fashionableworld was staring at her, but presently gathered courage enough to gazeat the costumes of the women and the faces of the men. Howard, with asang froid of which she felt a little proud, ordered a meal for which heeventually paid a fraction over eight dollars. What would Aunt Mary havesaid to such extravagance? He produced a large bunch of violets. 

"With Sid Dallam's love, " he said, as she pinned them on her gown. "Itried to get Lily--Mrs. Sid--for lunch, but you never can put your fingeron her. She'll amuse you, Honora. "

"Oh, Howard, it's so much pleasanter lunching alone to-day. I'm glad youdidn't. And then afterwards--?"

He refused, however, to be drawn. When they emerged she did not hear thedirections he gave the cabman, and it was not until they turned into anarrow side street, which became dingier and dingier as they bumped theirway eastward, that she experienced a sudden sinking sensation. 

"Howard!" she cried. "Where are you going? You must tell me. "

"One of the prettiest suburbs in New Jersey--Rivington, " he said. "Waittill you see the house. "

"Suburbs! Rivington! New Jersey!" The words swam before Honora's eyes, like the great signs she had seen printed in black letters on the tallbuildings from the ferry that morning. She had a sickening sensation, andthe odour of his cigarette in the cab became unbearable. By an ironictrick of her memory, she recalled that she had told the clerks in theshops where she had made her purchases that she would send them heraddress later. How different that address from what she had imagined it!

"It's in the country!" she exclaimed. 

To lunch at Delmonico's for eight dollars and live in Rivington

Howard appeared disturbed. More than that, he appeared astonished, solicitous. 

"Why, what's the matter, Honora?" he asked. "I thought you'd like it. It's a brand new house, and I got Lily Dallam to furnish it. She's awonder on that sort of thing, and I told her to go ahead--within reason. I talked it over with your aunt and uncle, and they agreed with me you'dmuch rather live out there for a few years than in a flat. "

"In a flat!" repeated Honora, with a shudder. 

"Certainly, " he said, flicking his ashes out of the window. "Who do youthink I am, at my age? Frederick T. Maitland, or the owner of theBrougham Building?"

"But--Howard, " she protested, "why didn't you talk it over with me?"

"Because I wanted to surprise you, " he replied. "I spent a month and ahalf looking for that house. And you never seemed to care. It didn'toccur to me that you would care--for the first few years, " he added, andthere was in his voice a note of reproach that did not escape her. "Younever seemed inclined to discuss business with me, Honora. I didn't thinkyou were interested. Dallam and I are making money. We expect some day tobe on Easy Street--so to speak--or Fifth Avenue. Some day, I hope, youcan show some of these people the road. But just now what capital we havehas to go into the business. "

Strangely enough, in spite of the intensity of her disappointment, shefelt nearer to her husband in that instant than at any time since theirmarriage. Honora, who could not bear to hurt any one's feelings, seizedhis hand repentantly. Tears started in her eyes. 

"Oh, Howard, I must seem to you very ungrateful, " she cried. "It was sucha--such a surprise. I have never lived in the country, and I'm sure itwill be delightful--and much more healthful than the city. Won't youforgive me?"

If he had known as much about the fluctuations of the femininetemperament as of those of stocks, the ease with which Honora executedthis complete change of front might have disturbed him. Howard, as willbe seen, possessed that quality which is loosely called good nature. Inmarriage, he had been told (and was ready to believe), the wind blewwhere it listed; and he was a wise husband who did not spend his time ininquiry as to its sources. He kissed her before he helped her out of thecarriage. Again they crossed the North River, and he led her through thewooden ferry house on the New Jersey side to where the Rivington trainwas standing beside a platform shed. 

There was no parlour car. Men and women--mostly women--with bundles werealready appropriating the seats and racks, and Honora found herselfwondering how many of these individuals were her future neighbours. Thatthere might have been an hysterical element in the lively anticipationshe exhibited during the journey did not occur to Howard Spence. 

After many stops, --in forty-two minutes, to be exact, the brakemanshouted out the name of the place which was to be her home, and of whichshe had been ignorant that morning. They alighted at an old red railroadstation, were seized upon by a hackman in a coonskin coat, and thrustinto a carriage that threatened to fall to pieces on the frozen macadamroad. They passed through a village in which Honora had a glimpse of thedrug store and grocery and the Grand Army Hall; then came detached housesof all ages in one and two-acre plots some above the road, for thecountry was rolling; a very attractive church of cream-coloured stone, and finally the carriage turned sharply to the left under an archway onwhich were the words "Stafford Park, " and stopped at a very new curbstonein a very new gutter on the right. 

"Here we are!" cried Howard, as he fished in his trousers pockets formoney to pay the hackman. 

Honora looked around her. Stafford Park consisted of a wide centre-way ofred gravel, not yet packed, with an island in its middle planted withshrubbery and young trees, the bare branches of which formed a blacktracery against the orange-red of the western sky. On both sides of thiscentre-way were concrete walks, with cross-walks from the curbs to thehouses. There were six of these--three on each side--standing on a raisedterrace and about two hundred feet apart. Beyond them, to the northward, Stafford Park was still a wilderness of second-growth hardwood, interspersed with a few cedars. 

Honora's house, the first on the right, was exactly like the other five. If we look at it through her eyes, we shall find this similarity its maindrawback. If we are a little older, however, and more sophisticated, weshall suspect the owner of Stafford Park and his architect of a design tomake it appear imposing. It was (indefinite and much-abused term)Colonial; painted white; and double, with dormer windows of diagonalwood-surrounded panes in the roof. There was a large pillared porch onits least private side--namely, the front. A white-capped maid stood inthe open doorway and smiled at Honora as she entered. 

Honora walked through the rooms. There was nothing intricate about thehouse; it was as simple as two times four, and really too large for herand Howard. Her presents were installed, the pictures and photographframes and chairs, even Mr. Isham's dining-room table and CousinEleanor's piano. The sight of these, and of the engraving which Aunt Maryhad sent on, and which all her childhood had hung over her bed in thelittle room at home, brought the tears once more to her eyes. But sheforced them back bravely. 

These reflections were interrupted by the appearance of the little maidannouncing that tea was ready, and bringing her two letters. One was fromSusan Holt, and the other, written in a large, slanting, and angularhandwriting, was signed Lily Dallam. It was dated from New York. 

"My dear Honora, " it ran, "I feel that I must call you so, for Sid andHoward, in addition to being partners, are such friends. I hesitated solong about furnishing your house, my dear, but Howard insisted, and saidhe wished to surprise you. I am sending you this line to welcome you, andto tell you that I have arranged with the furniture people to take any orall things back that you do not like, and exchange them. After all, theywill be out of date in a few years, and Howard and Sid will have made somuch money by that time, I hope, that I shall be able to leave myapartment, which is dear, and you will be coming to town. "

Honora laid down the sheet, and began to tidy her hair before the glassof the highly polished bureau in her room. A line in Susan's letteroccurred to her: "Mother hopes to see you soon. She asked me to tell youto buy good things which will last you all your life, and says that itpays. "

The tea-table was steaming in the parlour in front of the wood fire inthe blue tiled fireplace. The oak floor reflected its gleam, and that ofthe electric lights; the shades were drawn; a slight odour of steam heatpervaded the place. Howard, smoking a cigarette, was reclining on a sofathat evidently was not made for such a purpose, reading the eveningnewspapers. 

"Well, Honora, " he said, as she took her seat behind the tea-table, "youhaven't told me how you like it. Pretty cosey, eh? And enough spare roomto have people out over Sundays. "

"Oh, Howard, I do like it, " she cried, in a desperate attempt--whichmomentarily came near succeeding to convince herself that she could havedesired nothing more. "It's so sweet and clean and new--and all our own. "

She succeeded, at any rate, in convincing Howard. In certain matters, hewas easily convinced. 

"I thought you'd be pleased when you saw it, my dear, " he said. 

CHAPTER III

THE GREAT UNATTACHED

It was the poet Cowper who sang of domestic happiness as the only blissthat has survived the Fall. One of the burning and unsolved questions ofto-day is, --will it survive the twentieth century? Will it survive rapidtransit and bridge and Woman's Rights, the modern novel and modern drama, automobiles, flying machines, and intelligence offices; hotel, apartment, and suburban life, or four homes, or none at all? Is it a weed that willgrow anywhere, in a crevice between two stones in the city? Or is it aplant that requires tender care and the water of self-sacrifice? Aboveall, is it desirable?

Our heroine, as may have been suspected, has an adaptable temperament. Her natural position is upright, but like the reed, she can bendgracefully, and yields only to spring back again blithely. Since thischronicle regards her, we must try to look at existence through her eyes, and those of some of her generation and her sex: we must give the fouryears of her life in Rivington the approximate value which she herselfwould have put upon it--which is a chapter. We must regard Rivington as akind of purgatory, not solely a place of departed spirits, but of thosewhich have not yet arrived; as one of the many temporary abodes of theGreat Unattached. 

No philosophical writer has as yet made the attempt to define the change--as profound as that of the tadpole to the frog--between the lover andthe husband. An author of ideals would not dare to proclaim that thischange is inevitable: some husbands--and some wives are fortunate enoughto escape it, but it is not unlikely to happen in our moderncivilization. Just when it occurred in Howard Spence it is difficult tosay, but we have got to consider him henceforth as a husband; one whoregards his home as a shipyard rather than the sanctuary of a goddess; asa launching place, the ways of which are carefully greased, that he mayslide off to business every morning with as little friction as possible, and return at night to rest undisturbed in a comfortable berth, to ponderover the combat of the morrow. 

It would be inspiring to summon the vision of Honora, in rustlinggarments, poised as the figurehead of this craft, beckoning him on tobattle and victory. Alas! the launching happened at that grimmest andmost unromantic of hours-ten minutes of eight in the morning. There was aperiod, indeterminate, when she poured out his coffee with wifely zeal; asecond period when she appeared at the foot of the stairs to kiss him ashe was going out of the door; a third when, clad in an attractivedressing-gown, she waved him good-by from the window; and lastly, afourth, which was only marked by an occasional protest on his part, whenthe coffee was weak. 

"I'd gladly come down, Howard, if it seemed to make the least differenceto you, " said Honora. "But all you do is to sit with your newspaperpropped up and read the stock reports, and growl when I ask you a politequestion. You've no idea how long it makes the days out here, to get upearly. "

"It seems to me you put in a good many days in town, " he retorted. 

"Surely you don't expect me to spend all my time in Rivington!" she criedreproachfully; "I'd die. And then I am always having to get new cooks foryou, because they can't make Hollandaise sauce like hotel chefs. Men haveno idea how hard it is to keep house in the country, --I just wish you hadto go to those horrid intelligence offices. You wouldn't stay inRivington ten days. And all the good cooks drink. "

Howard, indeed, with the aid of the village policeman, had had to expelfrom his kitchen one imperious female who swore like a dock hand, and whowounded Honora to the quick by remarking, as she departed in durance, that she had always lived with ladies and gentlemen and people who weresomebody. The incident had tended further to detract from the romance ofthe country. 

It is a mistake to suppose that the honeymoon disappears below thehorizon with the rapidity of a tropical sun. And there is generally anafterglow. In spite of cooks and other minor clouds, in spite of visionsof metropolitan triumphs (not shattered, but put away in camphor), lifewas touched with a certain novelty. There was a new runabout and a horsewhich Honora could drive herself, and she went to the station to meet herhusband. On mild Saturday and Sunday afternoons they made longexcursions, into the country--until the golf season began, when thelessons begun at Silverdale were renewed. But after a while certain malecompetitors appeared, and the lessons were discontinued. Sunday, afterhis pile of newspapers had religiously been disposed of, became a fieldday. Indeed, it is impossible, without a twinge of pity, to behold Howardtaking root in Rivington, for we know that sooner or later he will be dugup and transplanted. The soil was congenial. He played poker on the trainwith the Rivington husbands, and otherwise got along with them famously. And it was to him an enigma--when occasionally he allowed his thoughts todwell upon such trivial matters--why Honora was not equally congenialwith the wives. 

There were, no doubt, interesting people in Rivington about whom manystories could be written: people with loves and fears and anxieties andjoys, with illnesses and recoveries, with babies, but few grandchildren. There were weddings at the little church, and burials; there were dancesat the golf club; there were Christmas trees, where most of the presents--like Honora's--came from afar, from family centres formed in a socialperiod gone by; there were promotions for the heads of families, andconsequent rejoicings over increases of income; there were movings; therewere--inevitable in the ever grinding action of that remorseless law, thesurvival of the fittest--commercial calamities, and the heartrendingsearch for new employment. 

Rivington called upon Honora in vehicles of all descriptions, inproportion to the improvidence or prosperity of the owners. And Honorareturned the calls, and joined the Sewing Circle, and the Woman'sLuncheon Club, which met for the purpose of literary discussion. In theevenings there were little dinners of six or eight, where the men talkedbusiness and the women house rent and groceries and gossip and thecheapest places in New York City to buy articles of the latest fashion. Some of them had actually built or were building houses that cost as muchas thirty thousand dollars, with the inexplicable intention of remainingin Rivington the rest of their lives!

Honora was kind to these ladies. As we know, she was kind to everybody. She almost allowed two or three of them to hope that they might becomeher intimates, and made excursions to New York with them, and lunched infashionable restaurants. Their range of discussion included babies andRobert Browning, the modern novel and the best matinee. It would beinteresting to know why she treated them, on the whole, like travellersmet by chance in a railroad station, from whom she was presently foreverto depart. The time and manner of this departure were matters to bedetermined in the future. 

It would be interesting to know, likewise, just at what period theintention of moving away from Rivington became fixed in Honora's mind. Honora circumscribed, Honora limited, Honora admitting defeat, and thischronicle would be finished. The gods exist somewhere, though manyincarnations may, be necessary to achieve their companionship. And noprison walls loom so high as to appall our heroine's soul. To exchangeone prison for another is in itself something of a feat, and an argumentthat the thing may be done again. Neither do the wise ones beatthemselves uselessly against brick or stone. Howard--poor man!--isfatuous enough to regard a great problem as being settled once and forall by a marriage certificate and a benediction; and labours under thedelusion that henceforth he may come and go as he pleases, eat hisbreakfast in silence, sleep after dinner, and spend his Sundays at theRivington Golf Club. It is as well to leave him, at present, in blissfulignorance of his future. 

Our sympathies, however, must be with Honora, who has paid the price forheaven, and who discovers that by marriage she has merely joined theranks of the Great Unattached. Hitherto it had been inconceivable to herthat any one sufficiently prosperous could live in a city, or near it anddependent on it, without being socially a part of it. Most momentous ofdisillusions! With the exception of the Sidney Dallams and one or twoyoung brokers who occasionally came out over Sunday, her husband had nofriends in New York. Rivington and the Holt family (incongruous mixture)formed the sum total of her acquaintance. 

On Monday mornings in particular, if perchance she went to town, the hugesigns which she read across the swamps, of breakfast foods and othernecessaries, seemed, for some reason, best to express her isolation. Well-dressed, laughing people descended from omnibuses at the prettierstations, people who seemed all-sufficient to themselves; people she wassure she should like if only she knew them. Once the sight of her schoolfriend, Ethel Wing, chatting with a tall young man, brought up a flood ofrecollections; again, in a millinery establishment, she came face to facewith the attractive Mrs. Maitland whom she had seen at Hot Springs. Sometimes she would walk on Fifth Avenue, watching, with mingledsensations, the procession there. The colour, the movement, the sensationof living in a world where every one was fabulously wealthy, was at oncea stimulation and a despair. Brougham after brougham passed, victoriaafter victoria, in which beautifully gowned women chatted gayly or satback, impassive, amidst the cushions. Some of them, indeed, looked bored, but this did not mar the general effect of pleasure and prosperity. Eventhe people--well-dressed, too--in the hansom cabs were usually animatedand smiling. On the sidewalk athletic, clear-skinned girls passed her, sometimes with a man, sometimes in groups of two and three, going in andout of the expensive-looking shops with the large, plate-glass windows. 

All of these women, apparently, had something definite to do, somewhereto go, some one to meet the very next, minute. They protested tomilliners and dressmakers if they were kept waiting, and even seemedimpatient of time lost if one by chance bumped into them. But Honora hadno imperative appointments. Lily Dallam was almost sure to be out, orgoing out immediately, and seemed to have more engagements than any onein New York. 

"I'm so sorry, my dear, " she would say, and add reproachfully: "whydidn't you telephone me you were coming? If you had only let me know wemight have lunched together or gone to the matinee. Now I have promisedClara Trowbridge to go to a lunch party at her house. "

Mrs. Dallam had a most convincing way of saying such things, and in spiteof one's self put one in the wrong for not having telephoned. But ifindeed Honora telephoned--as she did once or twice in her innocence--Lilywas quite as distressed. 

"My dear, why didn't you let me know last night? Trixy Brent has givenLula Chandos his box at the Horse Show, and Lula would never, neverforgive me if I backed out. "

Although she lived in an apartment--in a most attractive one, to be sure--there could be no doubt about it that Lily Dallam was fashionable. Shehad a way with her, and her costumes were marvellous. She could have madeher fortune either as a dressmaker or a house decorator, and she boughteverything from "little" men and women whom she discovered herself. Itwas a curious fact that all of these small tradespeople eventually becamefashionable, too. Lily was kind to Honora, and gave her their addressesbefore they grew to be great and insolent and careless whether onepatronized them or not. 

While we are confessing the trials and weaknesses of our heroine, weshall have to admit that she read, occasionally, the society columns ofthe newspapers. And in this manner she grew to have a certain familiaritywith the doings of those favourites of fortune who had more delightfulengagements than hours in which to fulfil them. So intimate was LilyDallam with many of these Olympians that she spoke of them by their firstnames, or generally by their nicknames. Some two years after Honora'smarriage the Dallams had taken a house in that much discussed colony ofQuicksands, where sport and pleasure reigned supreme: and more than oncethe gown which Mrs. Sidney Dallam had worn to a polo match had beenfaithfully described in the public prints, or the dinners which she hadgiven at the Quicksands Club. One of these dinners, Honora learned, hadbeen given in honour of Mr. Trixton Brent. 

"You ought to know Trixy, Honora, " Mrs. Dallam declared; "he'd be crazyabout you. "

Time passed, however, and Mrs. Dallam made no attempt to bring about thismost desirable meeting. When Honora and Howard went to town to dine withthe Dallams, it was always at a restaurant, a 'partie carree'. LilyDallam thought it dull to dine at home, and they went to the theatreafterwards--invariably a musical comedy. Although Honora did not careparticularly for musical comedies, she always experienced a certainfeverish stimulation which kept her wide awake on the midnight train toRivington. Howard had a most exasperating habit of dozing in the cornerof the seat. 

"You are always sleepy when I have anything interesting to talk to youabout, " said Honora, "or reading stock reports. I scarcely see anythingat all of you. "

Howard roused himself. 

"Where are we now?" he asked. 

"Oh, " cried Honora, "we haven't passed Hydeville. Howard, who is TrixtonBrent?"

"What about him?" demanded her husband. 

"Nothing--except that he is one of Lily's friends, and she said she knew--I should like him. I wish you would be more interested in people. Whois he?"

"One of the best-known operators in the market, " Howard answered, and hisair implied that a lack of knowledge of Mr. Brent was ignorance indeed;"a daring gambler. He cornered cotton once, and raked in over a million. He's a sport, too. "

"How old is he?"

"About forty-three. "

"Is he married?" inquired Honora. 

"He's divorced, " said Howard. And she had to be content with so much ofthe gentleman's biography, for her husband relapsed into somnolenceagain. A few days later she saw a picture of Mr. Brent, in polo costume, in one of the magazines. She thought him good-looking, and wondered whatkind of a wife he had had. 

Honora, when she went to town for the day, generally could be sure offinding some one, at least, of the Holt family at home at luncheon time. They lived still in the same house on Madison Avenue to which Aunt Maryand Uncle Tom had been invited to breakfast on the day of Honora'sarrival in her own country. It had a wide, brownstone front, with abasement, and a high flight of steps leading up to the door. Within, solemnity reigned, and this effect was largely produced by theprodigiously high ceilings and the black walnut doors and woodwork. Onthe second floor, the library where the family assembled was morecheerful. The books themselves, although in black-walnut cases, and thesun pouring in, assisted in making this effect. 

Here, indeed, were stability and peace. Here Honora remade theacquaintance of the young settlement worker, and of the missionary, nowon the Presbyterian Board of Missions. Here she charmed other friends andallies of the Holt family; and once met, somewhat to her surprise, twoyoung married women who differed radically from the other guests of thehouse. Honora admired their gowns if not their manners; for they ignoredher, and talked to Mrs. Holt about plans for raising money for theWorking Girl's Relief Society. 

"You should join us, my dear, " said Mrs. Holt; "I am sure you would beinterested in our work. "

"I'd be so glad to, Mrs. Holt, " replied Honora, "if only I didn't live inthe country. "

She came away as usual, feeling of having run into a cul de sac. Mrs. Holt's house was a refuge, not an outlet; and thither Honora directed hersteps when a distaste for lunching alone or with some of her Rivingtonfriends in the hateful, selfish gayety of a fashionable restaurantovercame her; or when her moods had run through a cycle, and anatmosphere of religion and domesticity became congenial. 

"Howard, " she asked unexpectedly one evening, as he sat smoking besidethe blue tiled mantel, "have you got on your winter flannels?"

"I'll bet a hundred dollars to ten cents, " he cried, "that you've beenlunching with Mrs. Holt. "

"I think you're horrid, " said Honora. 

Something must be said for her. Domestic virtue, in the face of suchmocking heresy, is exceptionally difficult of attainment. 

Mrs. Holt had not been satisfied with Honora's and Susan's accounts ofthe house in Stafford Park. She felt called upon to inspect it. And forthis purpose, in the spring following Honora's marriage, she made apilgrimage to Rivington and spent the day. Honora met her at the station, and the drive homeward was occupied in answering innumerable questions onthe characters, conditions, and modes of life of Honora's neighbours. 

"Now, my dear, " said Mrs. Holt, when they were seated before the fireafter lunch, "I want you to feel that you can come to me for everything. I must congratulate you and Howard on being sensible enough to start yourmarried life simply, in the country. I shall never forget the littlehouse in which Mr. Holt and I began, and how blissfully happy I was. " Thegood lady reached out and took Honora's hand in her own. "Not that yourdeep feeling for your husband will ever change. But men are moredifficult to manage as they grow older, my dear, and the best of themrequire a little managing for their own good. And increasedestablishments bring added cares and responsibilities. Now that I amhere, I have formed a very fair notion of what it ought to cost you tolive in such a place. And I shall be glad to go over your housekeepingbooks with you, and tell you if you are being cheated as I dare say youare. "

"Oh, Mrs. Holt, " Honora faltered, "I--I haven't kept any books. Howardjust pays the bills. "

"You mean to say he hasn't given you any allowance!" cried Mrs. Holt, aghast. "You don't know what it costs to run this house?"

"No, " said Honora, humbly. "I never thought of it. I have no idea whatHoward's income may be. "

"I'll write to Howard myself--to-night, " declared Mrs. Holt. 

"Please don't, Mrs. Holt. I'll--I'll speak to him, " said Honora. 

"Very well, then, " the good lady agreed, "and I will send you one of myown books, with my own system, as soon as I get home. It is not yourfault, my dear, it is Howard's. It is little short of criminal of him. Isuppose this is one of the pernicious results of being on the StockExchange. New York is nothing like what it was when I was a girl--theextravagance by everybody is actually appalling. The whole city is bentupon lavishness and pleasure. And I am afraid it is very often the wives, Honora, who take the lead in prodigality. It all tends, my dear, toloosen the marriage tie--especially this frightful habit of dining inhotels and restaurants. "

Before she left Mrs. Holt insisted on going over the house from top tobottom, from laundry to linen closet. Suffice it to say that theinspection was not without a certain criticism, which must be passedover. 

"It is a little large, just for you and Howard, my dear, " was her finalcomment. "But you are wise in providing for the future. "

"For the future?" Honora repeated. 

Mrs. Holt playfully pinched her cheek. 

"When the children arrive, my dear, as I hope they will--soon, " she said, smiling at Honora's colour. "Sometimes it all comes back to me--my ownjoy when Joshua was a baby. I was very foolish about him, no doubt. Annieand Gwendolen tell me so. I wouldn't even let the nurse sit up with himwhen he was getting his teeth. Mercy!" she exclaimed, glancing at theenamelled watch on her gown, --for long practice had enabled her to tellthe time upside down, --"we'll be late for the train, my dear. "

After returning from the station, Honora sat for a long time at herwindow, looking out on the park. The afternoon sunlight had the silverytinge that comes to it in March; the red gravel of the centre drivewaywas very wet, and the grass of the lawns of the houses opposite already avivid green; in the back-yards the white clothes snapped from the lines;and a group of children, followed by nurses with perambulators, trippedalong the strip of sidewalk. 

Why could not she feel the joys and desires of which Mrs. Holt hadspoken? It never had occurred to her until to-day that they were lackingin her. Children! A home! Why was it that she did not want children? Whyshould such a natural longing be absent in her? Her mind went back to thedays of her childhood dolls, and she smiled to think of their largefamilies. She had always associated marriage with children--until she gotmarried. And now she remembered that her childhood ideals of thematrimonial state had been very much, like Mrs. Holt's own experience ofit: Why then had that ideal gradually faded until, when marriage came toher, it was faint and shadowy indeed? Why were not her spirit and herhopes enclosed by the walls in which she sat?

The housekeeping book came from Mrs. Holt the next morning, but Honoradid not mention it to her husband. Circumstances were her excuse: he hadhad a hard day on the Exchange, and at such times he showed a markeddisinclination for the discussion of household matters. It was not untilthe autumn, in fact, that the subject of finance was mentioned betweenthem, and after a period during which Howard had been unusuallyuncommunicative and morose. Just as electrical disturbances are said tobe in some way connected with sun spots, so Honora learned that a certainglumness and tendency to discuss expenses on the part of her husband weresynchronous with a depression in the market. 

"I wish you'd learn to go a little slow, Honora, " he said one evening. "The bills are pretty stiff this month. You don't seem to have any ideaof the value of money. "

"Oh, Howard, " she exclaimed, after a moment's pause for breath, "how canyou say such a thing, when I save you so much?"

"Save me so much!" he echoed. 

"Yes. If I had gone to Ridley for this suit, he would have charged me twohundred dollars. I took such pains--all on your account--to find a littleman Lily Dallam told me about, who actually made it for one hundred andtwenty-five. "

It was typical of the unreason of his sex that he failed to be impressedby this argument. 

"If you go on saving that way, " said he, "we'll be in the hands of areceiver by Christmas. I can't see any difference between buying one suitfrom Ridley--whoever he may be--and three from Lily Dallam's 'littleman, ' except that you spend more than three times as much money. "

"Oh, I didn't get three!--I never thought you could be so unjust, Howard. Surely you don't want me to dress like these Rivington women, do you?"

"I can't see anything wrong with their clothes, " he maintained. 

"And to think that I was doing it all to please you!" she criedreproachfully. 

"To please me!"

"Who else? We-we don't know anybody in New York. And I wanted you to beproud of me. I've tried so hard and--and sometimes you don't even look atmy gowns, and say whether you like them and they are all for you. "

This argument, at least, did not fail of results, combined as it was witha hint of tears in Honora's voice. Its effect upon Howard was peculiar--he was at once irritated, disarmed, and softened. He put down hiscigarette--and Honora was on his knee! He could not deny her attractions. 

"How could you be so cruel, Howard?" she asked. 

"You know you wouldn't like me to be a slattern. It was my own idea tosave money--I had a long talk about economy one day with Mrs. Holt. Andyou act as though you had such a lot of it when we're in town for dinnerwith these Rivington people. You always have champagne. If--if you'repoor, you ought to have told me so, and I shouldn't have ordered anotherdinner gown. "

"You've ordered another dinner gown!"

"Only a little one, " said Honora, "the simplest kind. But if you'repoor--"

She had made a discovery--to reflect upon his business success was totouch a sensitive nerve. 

"I'm not poor, " he declared. "But the bottom's dropped out of the market, and even old Wing is economizing. We'll have to put on the brakes forawhile, Honora. "

It was shortly after this that Honora departed on the first of her threevisits to St. Louis. 

CHAPTER IV

THE NEW DOCTRINE

This history concerns a free and untrammelled--and, let us add, feminine--spirit. No lady is in the least interesting if restricted and contentedwith her restrictions, --a fact which the ladies of our nation are fastfinding out. What would become of the Goddess of Liberty? And let us markwell, while we are making these observations, that Liberty is a goddess, not a god, although it has taken us in America over a century to realizea significance in the choice of her sex. And--another discovery!--she isnot a haus frau. She is never domiciled, never fettered. Even the French, clever as they are, have not conceived her: equality and fraternity areneither kith nor kin of hers, and she laughs at them as myths--for she isa laughing lady. She alone of the three is real, and she alone isworshipped for attributes which she does not possess. She is a coquette, and she is never satisfied. If she were, she would not be Liberty: if shewere, she would not be worshipped of men, but despised. If theyunderstood her, they would not care for her. And finally, she comes notto bring peace, but a sword. 

At quarter to seven one blustery evening of the April following theirfourth anniversary Honora returned from New York to find her husbandseated under the tall lamp in the room he somewhat facetiously called his"den, " scanning the financial page of his newspaper. He was in hisdressing gown, his slippered feet extended towards the hearth, smoking acigarette. And on the stand beside him was a cocktail glass--empty. 

"Howard, " she cried, brushing his ashes from the table, "how can you be sountidy when you are so good-looking dressed up? I really believe you'regetting fat. And there, " she added, critically touching a place on thetop of his head, "is a bald spot!"

"Anything else?" he murmured, with his eyes still on the sheet. 

"Lots, " answered Honora, pulling down the newspaper from before his face. "For one thing, I'm not going to allow you to be a bear any more. I don'tmean a Stock Exchange bear, but a domestic bear--which is much worse. You've got to notice me once in a while. If you don't, I'll get anotherhusband. That's what women do in these days, you know, when the one theyhave doesn't take the trouble to make himself sufficiently agreeable. I'msure I could get another one quite easily, " she declared. 

He looked up at her as she stood facing him in the lamplight before thefire, and was forced to admit to himself that the boast was not whollyidle. A smile was on her lips, her eyes gleamed with health; her furs--of silver fox--were thrown back, the crimson roses pinned on her mauveafternoon gown matched the glow in her cheeks, while her hair mingledwith the dusky shadows. Howard Spence experienced one of those startling, illuminating moments which come on occasions to the busy andself-absorbed husbands of his nation. Psychologists have a name for sucha phenomenon. Ten minutes before, so far as his thoughts were concerned, she had not existed, and suddenly she had become a possession which hehad not, in truth, sufficiently prized. Absurd though it was, thepossibility which she had suggested aroused in him a slight uneasiness. 

"You are a deuced good-looking woman, I'll say that for you, Honora, " headmitted. 

"Thanks, " she answered, mockingly, and put her hands behind her back. "IfI had only known you were going to settle down in Rivington and get fatand bald and wear dressing gowns and be a bear, I never should havemarried you--never, never, never! Oh, how young and simple and foolish Iwas! And the magnificent way you talked about New York, and intimatedthat you were going to conquer the world. I believed you. Wasn't I alittle idiot not--to know that you'd make for a place like this and dig ahole and stay in it, and let the world go hang?"

He laughed, though it was a poor attempt. And she read in his eyes, whichhad not left her face, that he was more or less disturbed. 

"I treat you pretty well, don't I, Honora?" he asked. There was anamorous, apologetic note in his voice that amused her, and reminded herof the honeymoon. "I give you all the money you want or rather--you takeit, --and I don't kick up a row, except when the market goes to pieces--"

"When you act as though we'd have to live in Harlem--which couldn't bemuch worse, " she interrupted. "And you stay in town all day and have noend of fun making money, --for you like to make money, and expect me toamuse myself the best part of my life with a lot of women who don't knowenough to keep thin. "

He laughed again, but still uneasily. Honora was still smiling. 

"What's got into you?" he demanded. "I know you don't like Rivington, butyou never broke loose this way before. "

"If you stay here, " said Honora, with a new firmness, "it will be alone. I can't see what you want with a wife, anyway. I've been thinking youover lately. I don't do anything for you, except to keep getting youcooks--and anybody could do that. You don't seem to need me in anypossible way. All I do is to loiter around the house and read and playthe piano, or go to New York and buy clothes for nobody to look at exceptstrangers in restaurants. I'm worth more than that. I think I'll getmarried again. "

"Great Lord, what are you talking about?" he exclaimed when he got hisbreath. 

"I think I'll take a man next time, " she continued calmly, "who hassomething to him, some ambition. The kind of man I thought I was gettingwhen I took you only I shouldn't be fooled again. Women remarry a gooddeal in these days, and I'm beginning to see the reason why. And thewomen who have done it appear to be perfectly happy--much happier thanthey were at first. I saw one of them at Lily Dallam's this afternoon. She was radiant. I can't see any particular reason why a woman should betied all her life to her husband's apron strings--or whatever he wears--and waste the talents she has. It's wicked, when she might be themaking of some man who is worth something, and who lives somewhere. "

Her husband got up. 

"Jehosaphat!" he cried, "I never heard such talk in my life. "

The idea that her love for him might have ebbed a little, or that shewould for a moment consider leaving him, he rejected as preposterous, ofcourse: the reputation which the majority of her sex had made throughoutthe ages for constancy to the marriage tie was not to be so lightlydissipated. Nevertheless, there was in her words a new undertone ofdetermination he had never before heard--or, at least, noticed. 

There was one argument, or panacea, which had generally worked like acharm, although some time had elapsed since last he had resorted to it. He tried to seize and kiss her, but she eluded him. At last he caughther, out of breath, in the corner of the room. 

"Howard--you'll knock over the lamp--you'll ruin my gown--and then you'llhave to buy me another. I DID mean it, " she insisted, holding back herhead; "you'll have to choose between Rivington and me. It's--it's anultimatum. There were at least three awfully attractive men at LilyDallam's tea--I won't tell you who they were--who would be glad to marryme in a minute. "

He drew her down on the arm of his chair. 

"Now that Lily has a house in town, " he said weakly, "I suppose you thinkyou've got to have one. "

"Oh, Howard, it is such a dear house. I had no idea that so much could bedone with so narrow a front. It's all French, with mirrors and big whitepanels and satin chairs and sofas, and a carved gilt piano that she gotfor nothing from a dealer she knows; and church candlesticks. The mirrorsgive it the effect of being larger than it really is. I've only twocriticisms to make: it's too far from Fifth Avenue, and one can scarcelyturn around in it without knocking something down--a photograph frame ora flower vase or one of her spindle-legged chairs. It was only a hideous, old-fashioned stone front when she bought it. I suppose nobody but ReggieFarwell could have made anything out of it. "

"Who's Reggie Farwell?" inquired her husband. 

"Howard, do you really mean to say you've never heard of Reggie Farwell?Lily was so lucky to get him--she says he wouldn't have done the house ifhe hadn't been such a friend of hers. And he was coming to the tea thisafternoon--only something happened at the last minute, and he couldn't. She was so disappointed. He built the Maitlands' house, and did over theCecil Graingers'. And he's going to do our house--some day. "

"Why not right away?" asked Howard. 

"Because I've made up my mind to be very, very reasonable, " she replied. "We're going to Quicksands for a while, first. "

"To Quicksands!" he repeated. But in spite of himself he experienced afeeling of relief that she had not demanded a town mansion on the spot. 

Honora sprang to her feet. 

"Get up, Howard, " she cried, "remember that we're going out fordinner-and you'll never be ready. "

"Hold on, " he protested, "I don't know about this Quicksands proposition. Let's talk it over a little more--"

"We'll talk it over another time, " she replied. "But--remember myultimatum. And I am only taking you there for your own good. "

"For my own good!"

"Yes. To get you out of a rut. To keep you from becoming commonplace andobscure and--and everything you promised not to be when you married me, "she retorted from the doorway, her eyes still alight with that disturbingand tantalizing fire. "It is my last desperate effort as a wife to saveyou from baldness, obesity, and nonentity. " Wherewith she disappearedinto her room and closed the door. 

We read of earthquakes in the tropics and at the ends of the earth withcommiseration, it is true, yet with the fond belief that the ground onwhich we have built is so firm that our own 'lares' and 'penates' are inno danger of being shaken down. And in the same spirit we learn of otherpeople's domestic cataclysms. Howard Spence had had only a slight shock, but it frightened him and destroyed his sense of immunity. And during theweek that followed he lacked the moral courage either to discuss thesubject of Quicksands thoroughly or to let it alone: to put down his footlike a Turk or accede like a Crichton. 

Either course might have saved him. One trouble with the unfortunate manwas that he realized but dimly the gravity of the crisis. He had labouredunder the delusion that matrimonial conditions were still what they hadbeen in the Eighteenth Century--although it is doubtful whether he hadever thought of that century. Characteristically, he considered thetroublesome affair chiefly from its business side. His ambition, if wemay use so large a word for the sentiment that had filled his breast, hadbeen coincident with his prenuptial passion for Honora. And she hadcontrived, after four years, in some mysterious way to stir up thatambition once more; to make him uncomfortable; to compel him to askhimself whether he were not sliding downhill; to wonder whether living atQuicksands might not bring him in touch with important interests whichhad as yet eluded him. And, above all, --if the idea be put a little morecrudely and definitely than it occurred in his thoughts, he awoke to therealization that his wife was an asset he had hitherto utterly neglected. Inconceivable though it were (a middle-of-the-night reflection), if heinsisted on trying to keep such a woman bottled up in Rivington she mightsome day pack up and leave him. One never could tell what a woman woulddo in these days. Les sacrees femmes. 

We are indebted to Honora for this view of her husband's mentalprocesses. She watched them, as it were, through a glass in the side ofhis head, and incidentally derived infinite amusement therefrom. Withinstinctive wisdom she refrained from tinkering. 

An invitation to dine with the Dallams', in their own house, arrived aday or two after the tea which Honora had attended there. Although Lilyhad always been cordial, Honora thought this note couched in terms ofunusual warmth. She was implored to come early, because Lily had so muchto talk to her about which couldn't be written on account of a splittingheadache. In moderate obedience to this summons Honora arrived, on theevening in question, before the ornamental ironwork of Mrs. Dallam'sfront door at a few minutes after seven o'clock. Honora paused in thespring twilight to contemplate the house, which stood out incongruouslyfrom its sombre, brownstone brothers and sisters with noisy basementkitchens. The Third Avenue Elevated, "so handy for Sid, " roared acrossthe gap scarcely a block away; and just as the door was opened thetightest of little blue broughams, pulled by a huge chestnut horse anddriven by the tiniest of grooms in top boots, drew up at the curb. Andout of it burst a resplendent lady--Mrs. Dallam. 

"Oh, it's you, Honora, " she cried. "Am I late? I'm so sorry. But I justcouldn't help it. It's all Clara Trowbridge's fault. She insisted on mystaying to meet that Renee Labride who dances so divinely in LadyEmmeline. She's sweet. I've seen her eight times. " Here she took Honora'sarm, and faced her towards the street. "What do you think of my turnout?Isn't he a darling?"

"Is he--full grown?" asked Honora. 

Lilly Dallam burst out laughing. 

"Bless you, I don't mean Patrick, --although I had a terrible time findinghim. I mean the horse. Trixy Brent gave him to me before he went abroad. "

"Gave him to you!" Honora exclaimed. 

"Oh, he's always doing kind things like that, and he hadn't any use forhim. My dear, I hope you don't think for an instant Trixy's in love withme! He's crazy about Lula Chandos. I tried so hard to get her to come todinner to-night, and the Trowbridges' and the Barclays'. You've no ideahow difficult it is in New York to get any one under two weeks. And sowe've got just ourselves. "

Honora was on the point of declaring, politely, that she was very glad, when Lily Dallam asked her how she liked the brougham. 

"It's the image of Mrs. Cecil Grainger's, my dear, and I got it for asong. As long as Trixy gave me the horse, I told Sid the least he coulddo was to give me the brougham and the harness. Is Master Sid asleep?"she inquired of the maid who had been patiently waiting at the door. "Imeant to have got home in time to kiss him. "

She led Honora up the narrow but thickly carpeted stairs to a miniatureboudoir, where Madame Adelaide, in a gilt rococo frame, lookedsuperciliously down from the walls. 

"Why haven't you been in to see me since my tea, Honora? You were such asuccess, and after you left they were all crazy to know something aboutyou, and why they hadn't heard of you. My dear, how much did littleHarris charge you for that dress? If I had your face and neck and figureI'd die before I'd live in Rivington. You're positively wasted, Honora. And if you stay there, no one will look at you, though you were asbeautiful as Mrs. Langtry. "

"You're rather good-looking yourself, Lily, " said Honora. 

"I'm ten years older than you, my dear, and I have to be so careful. Sidsays I'm killing myself, but I've found a little massage woman who iswonderful. How do you like this dress?"

"All your things are exquisite. "

"Do you think so?" cried Mrs. Dallam, delightedly. 

Honora, indeed, had not perjured herself. Only the hypercritical, whenMrs. Dallam was dressed, had the impression of a performed miracle. Shewas the most finished of finished products. Her complexion was high and(be it added) natural, her hair wonderfully 'onduled', and she had withalthe sweetest and kindest of smiles and the most engaging laughter in theworld. It was impossible not to love her. 

"Howard, " she cried, when a little later they were seated at the table, "how mean of you to have kept Honora in a dead and alive place likeRivington all these years! I think she's an angel to have stood it. Menare beyond me. Do you know what an attractive wife you've got? I've justbeen telling her that there wasn't a woman at my tea who compared withher, and the men were crazy about her. "

"That's the reason I live down there, " proclaimed Howard, as he finishedhis first glass of champagne. 

"Honora, " demanded Mrs. Dallam, ignoring his bravado, "why don't you takea house at Quicksands? You'd love it, and you'd look simply divine in abathing suit. Why don't you come down?"

"Ask Howard, " replied Honora, demurely. 

"Well, Lily, I'll own up I have been considering it a little, " thatgentleman admitted with gravity. "But I haven't decided anything. Thereare certain drawbacks--"

"Drawbacks!" exclaimed Mrs. Dallam. "Drawbacks at Quicksands! I'd like toknow what they are. Don't be silly, Howard. You get more for your moneythere than any place I know. " Suddenly the light of an inspiration cameinto her eyes, and she turned to her husband. "Sid, the Alfred Fern houseis for rent, isn't it?"

"I think it must be, Lily, " replied Mr. Dallam. 

"Sometimes I believe I'm losing my mind, " declared Mrs. Dallam. "What animbecile I was not to think of it! It's a dear, Honora, not five minutesfrom the Club, with the sweetest furniture, and they just finished itlast fall. It would be positively wicked not to take it, Howard. Theycouldn't have failed more opportunely. I'm sorry for Alfred, but I alwaysthought Louise Fern a little snob. Sid, you must see Alfred down town thefirst thing in the morning and ask him what's the least he'll rent itfor. Tell him I wish to know. "

"But--my dear Lily--began Mr. Dallam apologetically. 

"There!" complained his wife, "you're always raising objections to mymost charming and sensible plans. You act as though you wanted Honora andHoward to stay in Rivington. "

"My dear Lily!" he protested again. And words failing him, he sought by agesture to disclaim such a sinister motive for inaction. 

"What harm can it do?" she asked plaintively. "Howard doesn't have torent the house, although it would be a sin if he didn't. Find out therent in the morning, Sid, and we'll all four go down on Sunday and lookat it, and lunch at the Quicksands Club. I'm sure I can get out of myengagement at Laura Dean's--this is so important. What do you say, Honora?"

"I think it would be delightful, " said Honora. 

CHAPTER V

QUICKSANDS

To convey any adequate idea of the community familiarly known asQuicksands a cinematograph were necessary. With a pen we can onlyapproximate the appearance of the shifting grains at any one time. Somehouseholds there were, indeed, which maintained a precarious thoughseemingly miraculous footing on the surface, or near it, going under formere brief periods, only to rise again and flaunt men-servants in theface of Providence. 

There were real tragedies, too, although a casual visitor would neverhave guessed it. For tragedies sink, and that is the end of them. Thecinematograph, to be sure, would reveal one from time to time, cominglike a shadow across an endless feast, and gone again in a flash. Suchwas what might appropriately be called the episode of the Alfred Ferns. After three years of married life they had come, they had rented; themarket had gone up, they had bought and built--upon the sands. Theancient farmhouse which had stood on the site had been torn down asunsuited to a higher civilization, although the great elms which hadsheltered it had been left standing, in grave contrast to the twistedcedars and stunted oaks so much in evidence round about. 

The Ferns--or rather little Mrs. Fern--had had taste, and the new housereflected it. As an indication of the quality of imagination possessed bythe owners, the place was called "The Brackens. " There was a long porchon the side of the ocean, but a view of the water was shut off from it bya hedge which, during the successive ownerships of the adjoiningproperty, had attained a height of twelve feet. There was a little toygreenhouse connecting with the porch (an "economy" indulged in when themarket had begun to go the wrong way for Mr. Fern). Exile, althoughunpleasant, was sometimes found necessary at Quicksands, and eveneffective. 

Above all things, however, if one is describing Quicksands, one must notbe depressing. That is the unforgiveable sin there. Hence we must touchupon these tragedies lightly. 

If, after walking through the entrance in the hedge that separated theBrackens from the main road, you turned to the left and followed adriveway newly laid out between young poplars, you came to a mass ofcedars. Behind these was hidden the stable. There were four stalls, allreplete with brass trimmings, and a box, and the carriage-house was madelarge enough for the break which Mr. Fern had been getting ready to buywhen he had been forced, so unexpectedly, to change his mind. 

If the world had been searched, perhaps, no greater contrast to Rivingtoncould have been found than this delightful colony of quicksands, full oflife and motion and colour, where everybody was beautifully dressed andenjoying themselves. For a whole week after her instalment Honora was ina continual state of excitement and anticipation, and the sound of wheelsand voices on the highroad beyond the hedge sent her peeping to hercurtains a dozen times a day. The waking hours, instead of burdens, wereso many fleeting joys. In the morning she awoke to breathe a new, perplexing, and delicious perfume--the salt sea breeze stirring hercurtains: later, she was on the gay, yellow-ochre beach with Lily Dallam, making new acquaintances; and presently stepping, with a quiver of fearakin to delight, into the restless, limitless blue water that stretchedsouthward under a milky haze: luncheon somewhere, more new acquaintances, and then, perhaps, in Lily's light wood victoria to meet the train oftrains. For at half-past five the little station, forlorn all day long inthe midst of the twisted cedars that grew out of the heated sand, assumedan air of gayety and animation. Vehicles of all sorts drew up in the openspace before it, wagonettes, phaetons, victorias, high wheeled hackneycarts, and low Hempstead carts: women in white summer gowns and veilscompared notes, or shouted invitations to dinner from carriage tocarriage. The engine rolled in with a great cloud of dust, the horsesdanced, the husbands and the overnight guests, grimy and brandishingevening newspapers, poured out of the special car where they had sat inarm-chairs and talked stocks all the way from Long Island City. Some weredriven home, it is true; some to the beach, and others to the QuicksandsClub, where they continued their discussions over whiskey-and-sodasuntil it was time to have a cocktail and dress for dinner. 

Then came the memorable evening when Lily Dallam gave a dinner in honourof Honora, her real introduction to Quicksands. It was characteristic ofLily that her touch made the desert bloom. Three years before Quicksandshad gasped to hear that the Sidney Dallams had bought the Faraday house--or rather what remained of it. 

"We got it for nothing, " Lily explained triumphantly on the occasion ofHonora's first admiring view. "Nobody would look at it, my dear. "

It must have been this first price, undoubtedly, that appealed to SidneyDallam, model for all husbands: to Sidney, who had had as much of an ideaof buying in Quicksands as of acquiring a Scotch shooting box. The"Faraday place" had belonged to the middle ages, as time is reckoned inQuicksands, and had lain deserted for years, chiefly on account of itslugubrious and funereal aspect. It was on a corner. Two "for rent" signshad fallen successively from the overgrown hedge: some fifty feet backfrom the road, hidden by undergrowth and in the tenebrous shades of hugelarches and cedars, stood a hideous, two-storied house with a mansardroof, once painted dark red. 

The magical transformation of all this into a sunny, smiling, white villawith red-striped awnings and well-kept lawns and just enough shade haddone no little towards giving to Lily Dallam that ascendency which shehad acquired with such startling rapidity in the community. When Honoraand Howard drove up to the door in the deepening twilight, every windowwas a yellow, blazing square, and above the sound of voices rose a waltzfrom "Lady Emmeline" played with vigour on the piano. Lily Dallam greetedHonora in the little room which (for some unexplained reason) was knownas the library, pressed into service at dinner parties as the ladies'dressing room. 

"My dear, how sweet you look in that coral! I've been so lucky to-night, "she added in Honora's ear; "I've actually got Trixy Brent for you. "

Our heroine was conscious of a pleasurable palpitation as she walked withher hostess across the little entry to the door of the drawing-room, where her eyes encountered an inviting and vivacious scene. Some ten or adozen guests, laughing and talking gayly, filled the spaces between thefurniture; an upright piano was embedded in a corner, and the lady whohad just executed the waltz had swung around on the stool, and wassmiling up at a man who stood beside her with his hand in his pocket. Shewas a decided brunette, neither tall nor short, with a suggestion ofplumpness. 

"That's Lula Chandos, " explained Lily Dallam in her usual staccato, following Honora's gaze, "at the piano, in ashes of roses. She's stoppedmourning for her husband. Trixy told her to-night she'd discarded thesackcloth and kept the ashes. He's awfully clever. I don't wonder thatshe's crazy about him, do you? He's standing beside her. "

Honora took a good look at the famous Trixy, who resembled a certain typeof military Englishman. He had close-cropped hair and a close-croppedmustache; and his grey eyes, as they rested amusedly on Mrs. Chandos, seemed to have in them the light of mockery. 

"Trixy!" cried his hostess, threading her way with considerable skillacross the room and dragging Honora after her, "Trixy, I want tointroduce you to Mrs. Spence. Now aren't you glad you came!"

It was partly, no doubt, by such informal introductions that Lily Dallamhad made her reputation as the mistress of a house where one and all hadsuch a good time. Honora, of course, blushed to her temples, andeverybody laughed--even Mrs. Chandos. 

"Glad, " said Mr. Brent, with his eyes on Honora, "does not quite expressit. You usually have a supply of superlatives, Lily, which you might havedrawn on. "

"Isn't he irrepressible?" demanded Lily Dallam, delightedly, "he's alwaysteasing. "

It was running through Honora's mind, while Lily Dallam's characteristicintroductions of the other guests were in progress, that "irrepressible"was an inaccurate word to apply to Mr. Brent's manner. Honora could notdefine his attitude, but she vaguely resented it. All of Lily's guestshad the air of being at home, and at that moment a young gentleman namedCharley Goodwin, who was six feet tall and weighed two hundred pounds, was loudly demanding cocktails. They were presently brought by a ratherharassed-looking man-servant. 

"I can't get over how well you look in that gown, Lula, " declared Mrs. Dallam, as they went out to dinner. "Trixy, what does she remind you of?"

"Cleopatra, " cried Warry Trowbridge, with an attempt to be gallant. 

"Eternal vigilance, " said Mr. Brent, and they sat down amidst thelaughter, Lily Dallam declaring that he was horrid, and Mrs. Chandosgiving him a look of tender reproach. But he turned abruptly to Honora, who was on his other side. 

"Where did you drop down from, Mrs. Spence?" he inquired. 

"Why do you take it for granted that I have dropped?" she asked sweetly. 

He looked at her queerly for a moment, and then burst out laughing. 

"Because you are sitting next to Lucifer, " he said. "It's kind of me towarn you, isn't it?"

"It wasn't necessary, " replied Honora. "And besides, as a dinnercompanion, I imagine Lucifer couldn't be improved on. "

He laughed again. 

"As a dinner companion!" he repeated. "So you would limit Lucifer todinners? That's rather a severe punishment, since we're neighbours. "

"How delightful to have Lucifer as one's neighbour, " said Honora, avoiding his eyes. "Of course I've been brought up to believe that he wasalways next door, so to speak, but I've never--had any proof of it untilnow. "

"Proof!" echoed Mr. Brent. "Has my reputation gone before me?"

"I smell the brimstone, " said Honora. 

He derived, apparently, infinite amusement from this remark likewise. 

"If I had known I was to have the honour of sitting here, I should haveused another perfume, " he replied. "I have several. "

It was Honora's turn to laugh. 

"They are probably for--commercial transactions, not for ladies, " sheretorted. "We are notoriously fond of brimstone, if it is not too strong. A suspicion of it. "

Her colour was high, and she was surprised at her own vivacity. It seemedstrange that she should be holding her own in this manner with therenowned Trixton Brent. No wonder, after four years of Rivington, thatshe tingled with an unwonted excitement. 

At this point Mr. Brent's eye fell upon Howard, who was explainingsomething to Mrs. Trowbridge at the far end of the table. 

"What's your husband like?" he demanded abruptly. 

Honora was a little taken aback, but recovered sufficiently to retort:"You'd hardly expect me to give you an unprejudiced judgment. "

"That's true, " he agreed significantly. 

"He's everything, " added Honora, "that is to be expected in a husband. "

"Which isn't much, in these days, " declared Mr. Brent. 

"On the contrary, " said Honora. 

"What I should like to know is why you came to Quicksands, " said Mr. Brent. 

"For a little excitement, " she replied. "So far, I have not beendisappointed. But why do you ask that question?" she demanded, with aslight uneasiness. "Why did you come here?"

"Oh, " he said, "you must remember that I'm--Lucifer, a citizen of theworld, at home anywhere, a sort of 'freebooter. I'm not here all thetime--but that's no reflection on Quicksands. May I make a bet with you, Mrs. Spence?"

"What about?"

"That you won't stay in Quicksands more than six months, " he answered. 

"Why do you say that?" she asked curiously. 

He shook his head. 

"My experience with your sex, " he declared enigmatically, "has not been aslight one. "

"Trixy!" interrupted Mrs. Chandos at this juncture, from his other side, "Warry Trowbridge won't tell me whether to sell my Consolidated Potteriesstock. "

"Because he doesn't know, " said Mr. Brent, laconically, and readdressedhimself to Honora, who had, however, caught a glimpse of Mrs. Chandos'face. 

"Don't you think it's time for you to talk to Mrs. Chandos?" she asked. 

"What for?"

"Well, for one reason, it is customary, out of consideration for thehostess, to assist in turning the table. "

"Lily doesn't care, " he said. 

"How about Mrs. Chandos? I have an idea that she does care. "

He made a gesture of indifference. 

"And how about me?" Honora continued. "Perhaps--I'd like to talk to Mr. Dallam. "

"Have you ever tried it?" he demanded. 

Over her shoulder she flashed back at him a glance which he did notreturn. She had never, to tell the truth, given her husband's partnermuch consideration. He had existed in her mind solely as an obligingshopkeeper with whom Lily had unlimited credit, and who handed her overthe counter such things as she desired. And to-night, in contrast toTrixton Brent, Sidney Dallam suggested the counter more than ever before. He was about five and forty, small, neatly made, with little hands andfeet; fast growing bald, and what hair remained to him was a jet black. His suavity of manner and anxious desire to give one just the topic thatpleased had always irritated Honora. 

Good shopkeepers are not supposed to have any tastes, predilections, ordesires of their own, and it was therefore with no little surprise that, after many haphazard attempts, Honora discovered Mr, Dallam to bepossessed by one all-absorbing weakness. She had fallen in love, sheremarked, with little Sid on the beach, and Sidney Dallam suddenly becametransfigured. Was she fond of children? Honora coloured a little, andsaid "yes. " He confided to her, with an astonishing degree of feeling, that it had been the regret of his life he had not had more children. Nobody, he implied, who came to his house had ever exhibited the properinterest in Sid. 

"Sometimes, " he said, leaning towards her confidentially, "I slipupstairs for a little peep at him after dinner. "

"Oh, " cried Honora, "if you're going to-night mayn't I go with you? I'dlove to see him in bed. "

"Of course I'll take you, " said Sidney Dallam, and he looked at her sogratefully that she coloured again. 

"Honora, " said Lily Dallam, when the women were back in the drawing-room, "what did you do to Sid? You had him beaming--and he hates dinnerparties. "

"We were talking about children, " replied Honora, innocently. 

"Children!"

"Yes, " said Honora, "and your husband has promised to take me up to thenursery. "

"And did you talk to Trixy about children, too?" cried Lily, laughing, with a mischievous glance at Mrs. Chandos. 

"Is he interested in them?" asked Honora. 

"You dear!" cried Lily, "you'll be the death of me. Lula, Honora wants toknow whether Trixy is interested in children. "

Mrs. Chandos, in the act of lighting a cigarette, smiled sweetly. 

"Apparently he is, " she said. 

"It's time he were, if he's ever going to be, " said Honora, just assweetly. 

Everybody laughed but Mrs. Chandos, who began to betray an intenseinterest in some old lace in the corner of the room. 

"I bought it for nothing, my dear, " said Mrs. Dallam, but she pinchedHonora's arm delightedly. "How wicked of you!" she whispered, "but itserves her right. "

In the midst of the discussion of clothes and house rents and otherpeople's possessions, interspersed with anecdotes of a kind that was newto Honora, Sidney Dallam appeared at the door and beckoned to her. 

"How silly of you, Sid!" exclaimed his wife; "of course she doesn't wantto go. "

"Indeed I do, " protested Honora, rising with alacrity and following herhost up the stairs. At the end of a hallway a nurse, who had been readingbeside a lamp, got up smilingly and led the way on tiptoe into thenursery, turning on a shaded electric light. Honora bent over the crib. The child lay, as children will, with his little yellow head resting onhis arm. But in a moment, as she stood gazing at him, he turned andopened his eyes and smiled at her, and she stooped and kissed him. 

"Where's Daddy?" he demanded. 

"We've waked him!" said Honora, remorsefully. 

"Daddy, " said the child, "tell me a story. "

The nurse looked at Dallam reproachfully, as her duty demanded, and yetshe smiled. The noise of laughter reached them from below. 

"I didn't have any to-night, " the child pleaded. 

"I got home late, " Dallam explained to Honora, and, looking at the nurse, pleaded in his turn; "just one. "

"Just a tiny one, " said the child. 

"It's against all rules, Mr. Dallam, " said the nurse, "but--he's beenvery lonesome to-day. "

Dallam sat down on one side of him, Honora on the other. 

"Will you go to sleep right away if I do, Sid?" he asked. 

The child shut his eyes very tight. 

"Like that, " he promised. 

It was not the Sidney Dallam of the counting-room who told that story, and Honora listened with strange sensations which she did not attempt todefine. 

"I used to be fond of that one when I was a youngster, " he explainedapologetically to her as they went out, and little Sid had settledhimself obediently on the pillow once more. "It was when I dreamed, " headded, "of less prosaic occupations than the stock market. "

Sidney Dallam had dreamed!

Although Lily Dallam had declared that to leave her house before midnightwas to insult her, it was half-past eleven when Honora and her husbandreached home. He halted smilingly in her doorway as she took off her wrapand laid it over a chair. 

"Well, Honora, " he asked, "how do you like--the whirl of fashion?"

She turned to him with one of those rapid and bewildering movements thatsometimes characterized her, and put her arms on his shoulders. 

"What a dear old stay-at-home you were, Howard, " she said. "I wonder whatwould have happened to you if I hadn't rescued you in the nick of time!Own up that you like--a little variety in life. "

Being a man, he qualified his approval. 

"I didn't have a bad time, " he admitted. "I had a talk with Brent afterdinner, and I think I've got him interested in a little scheme. It's astrange thing that Sid Dallam was never able to do any business with him. If I can put this through, coming to Quicksands will have been worthwhile. " He paused a moment, and added: "Brent seems to have taken quite ashine to you, Honora. "

She dropped her arms, and going over to her dressing table, unclasped apin on the front of her gown. 

"I imagine, " she answered, in an indifferent tone, "that he acts so withevery new woman he meets. "

Howard remained for a while in the doorway, seemingly about to speak. Then he turned on his heel, and she heard him go into his own room. 

Far into the night she lay awake, the various incidents of the evening, like magic lantern views, thrown with bewildering rapidity on the screenof her mind. At last she was launched into life, and the days of herisolation gone by forever. She was in the centre of things. And yet--well, nothing could be perfect. Perhaps she demanded too much. Once ortwice, in the intimate and somewhat uproarious badinage that had beentossed back and forth in the drawing-room after dinner, her delicacy hadbeen offended: an air of revelry had prevailed, enhanced by the arrivalof whiskey-and-soda on a tray. And at the time she had been caught up byan excitement in the grip of which she still found herself. She had beenaware, as she tried to talk to Warren Trowbridge, of Trixton Brent'sglance, and of a certain hostility from Mrs. Chandos that caused her nowto grow warm with a kind of shame when she thought of it. But she couldnot deny that this man had for her a fascination. There was in him aninsolent sense of power, of scarcely veiled contempt for the company inwhich he found himself. And she asked herself, in this mood ofintrospection, whether a little of his contempt for Lily Dallam's guestshad not been communicated from him to her. 

When she had risen to leave, he had followed her into the entry. Sherecalled him vividly as he had stood before her then, a cigar in one handand a lighted match in the other, his eyes fixed upon her with asingularly disquieting look that was tinged, however, with amusement. "I'm coming to see you, " he announced. 

"Do be careful, " she had cried, "you'll burn yourself!"

"That, " he answered, tossing away the match, "is to be expected. "

She laughed nervously. 

"Good night, " he added, "and remember my bet. "

What could he have meant when he had declared that she would not remainin Quicksands?

CHAPTER VI

GAD AND MENI

There was an orthodox place of worship at Quicksands, a temple not merelyopened up for an hour or so on Sunday mornings to be shut tight duringthe remainder of the week although it was thronged with devotees on theSabbath. This temple, of course, was the Quicksands Club. Howard Spencewas quite orthodox; and, like some of our Puritan forefathers, did noteven come home to the midday meal on the first day of the week. But acertain instinct of protest and of nonconformity which may have beenremarked in our heroine sent her to St. Andrews-by-the-Sea--by no meansso well attended as the house of Gad and Meni. She walked home in apleasantly contemplative state of mind through a field of daisies, andhad just arrived at the hedge m front of the Brackens when the sound ofhoofs behind her caused her to turn. Mr. Trixton Brent, very firmlyastride of a restive, flea-bitten polo pony, surveyed her amusedly. 

"Where have you been?" said he. 

"To church, " replied Honora, demurely. 

"Such virtue is unheard of in Quicksands. "

"It isn't virtue, " said Honora. 

"I had my doubts about that, too, " he declared. 

"What is it, then?" she asked laughingly, wondering why he had such afaculty of stirring her excitement and interest. 

"Dissatisfaction, " was his prompt reply. 

"I don't see why you say that, " she protested. 

"I'm prepared to make my wager definite, " said he. "The odds are athoroughbred horse against a personally knitted worsted waistcoat thatyou won't stay in Quicksands six months. "

"I wish you wouldn't talk nonsense, " said Honora, "and besides, I can'tknit. "

There was a short silence during which he didn't relax his disconcertingstare. 

"Won't you come in?" she asked. "I'm sorry Howard isn't home. "

"I'm not, " he said promptly. "Can't you come over to my box for lunch?I've asked Lula Chandos and Warry Trowbridge. "

It was not without appropriateness that Trixton Brent called his housethe "Box. " It was square, with no pretensions to architecture whatever, with a porch running all the way around it. And it was literally filledwith the relics of the man's physical prowess cups for games of alldescriptions, heads and skins from the Bitter Roots to Bengal, and masksand brushes from England. To Honora there was an irresistible andmysterious fascination in all these trophies, each suggesting a finished--and some perhaps a cruel--performance of the man himself. The cups werepolished until they beat back the light like mirrors, and the glossy bearand tiger skins gave no hint of dying agonies. 

Mr. Brent's method with women, Honora observed, more resembled the noblesport of Isaac Walton than that of Nimrod, but she could not deny thatthis element of cruelty was one of his fascinations. It was very evidentto a feminine observer, for instance, that Mrs. Chandos was engaged in abreathless and altogether desperate struggle with the slow but inevitableand appalling Nemesis of a body and character that would not harmonize. If her figure grew stout, what was to become of her charm as an 'enfantgate'? Her host not only perceived, but apparently derived greatenjoyment out of the drama of this contest. From self-indulgence toself-denial--even though inspired by terror--is a far cry. And TrixtonBrent had evidently prepared his menu with a satanic purpose. 

"What! No entree, Lula? I had that sauce especially for you. "

"Oh, Trixy, did you really? How sweet of you!" And her liquid eyesregarded, with an almost equal affection, first the master and then thedish. "I'll take a little, " she said weakly; "it's so bad for my gout. "

"What, " asked Trixton Brent, flashing an amused glance at Honora, "arethe symptoms of gout, Lula? I hear a great deal about that trouble thesedays, but it seems to affect every one differently. "

Mrs. Chandos grew very red, but Warry Trowbridge saved her. 

"It's a swelling, " he said innocently. 

Brent threw back his head and laughed. 

"You haven't got it anyway, Warry, " he cried. 

Mr. Trowbridge, who resembled a lean and greying Irish terrier, maintained that he had. 

"It's a pity you don't ride, Lula. I understand that that's one of thebest preventives--for gout. I bought a horse last week that would justsuit you--an ideal woman's horse. He's taken a couple of blue ribbonsthis summer. "

"I hope you will show him to us, Mr. Brent, " exclaimed Honora, in aspirit of kindness. 

"Do you ride?" he demanded. 

"I'm devoted to it, " she declared. 

It was true. For many weeks that spring, on Monday, Wednesday, and Fridaymornings, she had gone up from Rivington to Harvey's Riding Academy, nearCentral Park. Thus she had acquired the elements of the equestrian art, and incidentally aroused the enthusiasm of a riding-master. 

After Mrs. Chandos had smoked three of the cigarettes which her hostspecially imported from Egypt, she declared, with no superabundance ofenthusiasm, that she was ready to go and see what Trixy had in the"stables. " In spite of that lady's somewhat obvious impatience, Honorainsisted upon admiring everything from the monogram of coloured sands sodeftly woven on the white in the coach house, to the hunters and poloponies in their rows of boxes. At last Vercingetorix, the latestacquisition of which Brent had spoken, was uncovered and trotted aroundthe ring. 

"I'm sorry, Trixy, but I've really got to leave, " said Mrs. Chandos. "AndI'm in such a predicament! I promised Fanny Darlington I'd go over there, and it's eight miles, and both my horses are lame. "

Brent turned to his coachman. 

"Put a pair in the victoria right away and drive Mrs. Chandos to Mrs. Darlington's, " he said. 

She looked at him, and her lip quivered. 

"You always were the soul of generosity, Trixy, but why the victoria?"

"My dear Lula, " he replied, "if there's any other carriage you prefer--?"

Honora did not hear the answer, which at any rate was scarcely audible. She moved away, and her eyes continued to follow Vercingetorix as hetrotted about the tan-bark after a groom. And presently she was awarethat Trixton Brent was standing beside her. 

"What do you think of him?" he asked. 

"He's adorable, " declared Honora. Would you like to try him?"

"Oh--might I? Sometime?"

"Why not to-day--now?" he said. "I'll send him over to your house andhave your saddle put on him. "

Before Honora could protest Mrs. Chandos came forward. 

"It's awfully sweet of you, Trixy, to offer to send me to Fanny's, butWarry says he will drive me over. Good-by, my dear, " she added, holdingout her hand to Honora. 

"I hope you enjoy your ride. "

Mr. Trowbridge's phaeton was brought up, Brent helped Mrs. Chandos in, and stood for a moment gazing after her. Amusement was still in his eyesas he turned to Honora. 

"Poor Lula!" he said. "Most women could have done it better than that--couldn't they?"

"I think you were horrid to her, " exclaimed Honora, indignantly. "Itwouldn't have hurt you to drive her to Mrs. Darlington's. "

It did not occur to her that her rebuke implied a familiarity at whichthey had swiftly but imperceptibly arrived. 

"Oh, yes, it would hurt me, " said he. "I'd rather spend a day in jailthan drive with Lula in that frame of mind. Tender reproaches, and allthat sort of thing, you know although I can't believe you ever indulge inthem. Don't, " he added. 

In spite of the fact that she was up in arms for her sex, Honora smiled. 

"Do you know, " she said slowly, "I'm beginning to think you are a brute. "

"That's encouraging, " he replied. 

"And fickle. "

"Still more encouraging. Most men are fickle. We're predatory animals. "

"It's just as well that I am warned, " said Honora. She raised her parasoland picked up her skirts and shot him a look. Although he did notresemble in feature the great if unscrupulous Emperor of the French, hereminded her now of a picture she had once seen of Napoleon and a lady;the lady obviously in a little flutter under the Emperor's scrutiny. Thepicture had suggested a probable future for the lady. 

"How long will it take you to dress?" he asked. 

"To dress for what?"

"To ride with me. "

"I'm not going to ride with you, " she said, and experienced a tingle ofsatisfaction from his surprise. 

"Why not?" he demanded. 

"In the first place, because I don't want to; and in the second, becauseI'm expecting Lily Dallam. "

"Lily never keeps an engagement, " he said. 

"That's no reason why I shouldn't, " Honora answered. 

"I'm beginning to think you're deuced clever, " said he. 

"How unfortunate for me!" she exclaimed. 

He laughed, although it was plain that he was obviously put out. Honorawas still smiling. 

"Deuced clever, " he repeated. 

"An experienced moth, " suggested Honora; "perhaps one that has beensinged a little, once or twice. Good-by--I've enjoyed myself immensely. "

She glanced back at him as she walked down the path to the roadway. Hewas still standing where she had left him, his feet slightly apart, hishands in the pockets of his riding breeches, looking after her. 

Her announcement of an engagement with Mrs. Dallam had been, to put itpolitely, fiction. She spent the rest of the afternoon writing lettershome, pausing at periods to look out of the window. Occasionally itappeared that her reflections were amusing. At seven o'clock Howardarrived, flushed and tired after his day of rest. 

"By the way, Honora, I saw Trixy Brent at the Club, and he said youwouldn't go riding with him. "

"Do you call him Trixy to his face?" she asked. 

"What? No--but everyone calls him Trixy. What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing, " she replied. "Only--the habit every one has in Quicksands ofspeaking of people they don't know well by their nicknames seems ratherbad taste. "

"I thought you liked Quicksands, " he retorted. "You weren't happy untilyou got down here. "

"It's infinitely better than Rivington, " she said. 

"I suppose, " he remarked, with a little irritation unusual in him, "thatyou'll be wanting to go to Newport next. "

"Perhaps, " said Honora, and resumed her letter. He fidgeted about theroom for a while, ordered a cocktail, and lighted a cigarette. 

"Look here, " he began presently, "I wish you'd be decent to Brent. He's apretty good fellow, and he's in with James Wing and that crowd of bigfinanciers, and he seems to have taken a shine to me probably becausehe's heard of that copper deal I put through this spring. "

Honora thrust back her writing pad, turned in her chair, and faced him. 

"How 'decent' do you wish me to be?" she inquired. 

"How decent?" he repeated. 

"Yes. "

He regarded her uneasily, took the cocktail which the maid offered him, drank it, and laid down the glass. 

He had had before, in the presence of his wife, this vague feeling ofhaving passed boundaries invisible to him. In her eyes was a curioussmile that lacked mirth, in her voice a dispassionate note that added tohis bewilderment. 

"What do you mean, Honora?"

"I know it's too much to expect of a man to be as solicitous about hiswife as he is about his business, " she replied. "Otherwise he wouldhesitate before he threw her into the arms of Mr. Trixton Brent. I warnyou that he is very attractive to women. "

"Hang it, " said Howard, "I can't see what you're driving at. I'm notthrowing you into his arms. I'm merely asking you to be friendly withhim. It means a good deal to me--to both of us. And besides, you can takecare of yourself. You're not the sort of woman to play the fool. "

"One never can tell, " said Honora, "what may happen. Suppose I fell inlove with him?"

"Don't talk nonsense, " he said. 

"I'm not so sure, " she answered, meditatively, "that it is nonsense. Itwould be quite easy to fall in love with him. Easier than you imagine. Curiously. Would you care?" she added. 

"Care!" he cried; "of course I'd care. What kind of rot are you talking?"

"Why would you care?"

"Why? What a darned idiotic question--"

"It's not really so idiotic as you think it is, " she said. "Suppose Iallowed Mr. Brent to make love to me, as he's very willing to do, wouldyou be sufficiently interested to compete. "

"To what?"

"To compete. "

"But--but we're married. "

She laid her hand upon her knee and glanced down at it. 

"It never occurred to me until lately, " she said, "how absurd is thebelief men still hold in these days that a wedding-ring absolves themforever from any effort on their part to retain their wives' affections. They regard the ring very much as a ball and chain, or a hobble toprevent the women from running away, that they may catch them wheneverthey may desire--which isn't often. Am I not right?"

He snapped his cigarette case. 

"Darn it, Honora, you're getting too deep for me!" he exclaimed. "Younever liked those, Browning women down at Rivington, but if this isn'tbrowning I'm hanged if I know what it is. An attack of nerves, perhaps. They tell me that women go all to pieces nowadays over nothing at all. "

"That's just it, " she agreed, "nothing at all!"

"I thought as much, " he replied, eager to seize this opportunity ofending a conversation that had neither head nor tail, and yet wasmarvellously uncomfortable. "There! be a good girl, and forget it. "

He stooped down suddenly to her face to kiss her, but she turned her facein time to receive the caress on the cheek. 

"The panacea!" she said. 

He laughed a little, boyishly, as he stood looking down at her. 

"Sometimes I can't make you out, " he said. "You've changed a good dealsince I married you. "

She was silent. But the thought occurred to her that a completeabsorption in commercialism was not developing. 

"If you can manage it, Honora, " he added with an attempt at lightness, "Iwish you'd have a little dinner soon, and ask Brent. Will you?"

"Nothing, " she replied, "would give me greater pleasure. "

He patted her on the shoulder and left the room whistling. But she satwhere she was until the maid came in to pull the curtains and turn on thelights, reminding her that guests were expected. 

 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 

Although the circle of Mr. Brent's friends could not be said to includeany university or college presidents, it was, however, both catholic andwide. He was hail fellow, indeed, with jockeys and financiers, greatladies and municipal statesmen of good Irish stock. He was a lion whoroamed at large over a great variety of hunting grounds, some of which itwould be snobbish to mention; for many reasons he preferred Quicksands: aman-eater, a woman-eater, and extraordinarily popular, nevertheless. Manyladies, so it was reported, had tried to tame him: some of them he hadcheerfully gobbled up, and others after the briefest of inspections, disdainfully thrust aside with his paw. 

This instinct for lion taming, which the most spirited of women possess, is, by the way, almost inexplicable to the great majority of the malesex. Honora had it, as must have been guessed. But however our faith inher may be justified by the ridiculous ease of her previous conquests, wecannot regard without trepidation her entrance into the arena with thisparticular and widely renowned king of beasts. Innocence pitted againstsophistry and wile and might. 

Two of the preliminary contests we have already witnessed. Others, moreor less similar, followed during a period of two months or more. Nothinginducing the excessive wagging of tongues, --Honora saw to that, althoughMrs. Chandos kindly took the trouble to warn our heroine, --a scene forwhich there is unfortunately no space in this chronicle; an entirelyamicable, almost honeyed scene, in Honora's boudoir. Nor can a completepicture of life at Quicksands be undertaken. Multiply Mrs. Dallam'sdinner-party by one hundred, Howard Silence's Sundays at the Club bytwenty, and one has a very fair idea of it. It was not preciselyintellectual. "Happy, " says Montesquieu, "the people whose annals areblank in history's book. " Let us leave it at that. 

Late one afternoon in August Honora was riding homeward along the oceanroad. The fragrant marshes that bordered it were a vivid green under theslanting rays of the sun, and she was gazing across them at the breakerscrashing on the beach beyond. Trixton Brent was beside her. 

"I wish you wouldn't stare at me so, " she said, turning to him suddenly;"it is embarrassing. "

"How did you know I was looking at you?" he asked. 

"I felt it. "

He drew his horse a little nearer. 

"Sometimes you're positively uncanny, " she added. 

He laughed. 

"I rather like that castles-in-Spain expression you wore, " he declared. 

"Castles in Spain?"

"Or in some other place where the real estate is more valuable. Certainlynot in Quicksands. "

"You are uncanny, " proclaimed Honora, with conviction. 

"I told you you wouldn't like Quicksands, " said he. 

"I've never said I didn't like it, " she replied. "I can't see why youassume that I don't. "

"You're ambitious, " he said. "Not that I think it a fault, when it's moreor less warranted. Your thrown away here, and you know it. "

She made him a bow from the saddle. 

"I have not been without a reward, at least, " she answered, and looked athim. 

"I have, " said he. 

Honora smiled. 

"I'm going to be your good angel, and help you get out of it, " hecontinued. 

"Get out of what?"

"Quicksands. "

"Do you think I'm in danger of sinking?" she asked. "And is it impossiblefor me to get out alone, if I wished to?"

"It will be easier with my help, " he answered. "You're clever enough torealize that--Honora. "

She was silent awhile. 

"You say the most extraordinary things, " she remarked presently. "Sometimes I think they are almost--"

"Indelicate, " he supplied. 

She coloured. 

"Yes, indelicate. "

"You can't forgive me for sweeping away your rose-coloured cloud ofromance, " he declared, laughing. "There are spades in the pack, howevermuch you may wish to ignore 'em. You know very well you don't like theseQuicksands people. They grate on your finer sensibilities, and all thatsort of thing. Come, now, isn't it so?"

She coloured again, and put her horse to the trot. 

"Onwards and upwards, " he cried. "Veni, vidi, vici, ascendi. "

"It seems to me, " she laughed, "that so much education is thrown away onthe stock market. "

"Whether you will be any happier higher up, " he went on, "God knows. Sometimes I think you ought to go back to the Arcadia you came from. Didyou pick out Spence for an embryo lord of high finance?"

"My excuse is, " replied Honora, "that I was very young, and I hadn't metyou. "

Whether the lion has judged our heroine with astuteness, or done her alittle less than justice, must be left to the reader. Apparently he isaccepting her gentle lashings with a meek enjoyment. He assisted her toalight at her own door, sent the horses home, and offered to come in andgive her a lesson in a delightful game that was to do its share in thedisintegration of the old and tiresome order of things--bridge. The lion, it will be seen, was self-sacrificing even to the extent of double dummy. He had picked up the game with characteristic aptitude abroad--Quicksands had yet to learn it. 

Howard Spence entered in the midst of the lesson. 

"Hello, Brent, " said he, genially, "you may be interested to know I gotthat little matter through without a hitch to-day. "

"I continue to marvel at you, " said the lion, and made it no trumps. 

Since this is a veracious history, and since we have wandered so far fromhome and amidst such strange, if brilliant scenes, it must be confessedthat Honora, three days earlier, had entered a certain shop in New Yorkand inquired for a book on bridge. Yes, said the clerk, he had such atreatise, it had arrived from England a week before. She kept it lookedup in her drawer, and studied it in the mornings with a pack of cardsbefore her. 

Given the proper amount of spur, anything in reason can be mastered.