"And what are you doing at home?" he demanded suspiciously.

"Me? Oh I remained to care for you--to keep you from being lonely."

"You lie. You are expecting some one."

She laughed.

"Who is it this time?" he persisted.

"Your insinuations are so unwarranted," she murmured.

"Whom are you expecting?"

"Dear me! how persistently you look for evil," she mocked. "You know
perfectly well that, thanks to my tact, I am considered quite the model
wife. You really should cultivate a more trusting disposition."

Another fit of coughing seized him, and while he suffered she again
watched him with that curious air of interest. When he could command his
voice, he gasped in a choking whisper, "You fiend! I know, and you know
that I know. Am I so innocent that Jack Hanover, and Charlie Rodgers, and
Black Whitman, and as many more of their kind, can make love to you under
my very nose without my knowing it? You take damned good care--posing as a
prude with your fad about immodest dress--that the world sees nothing; but
you have never troubled to hide it from me."

Deliberately, she arose and stood before him. "And why should I trouble to
hide anything from you?" she demanded. "Look at me"--she posed as if to