dress. Meadows kissed her absently, and, with his head evidently still
full of his walk, went to his dressing-room. When he reappeared, it was
to find Doris attired in a little black gown, with which he was already
too familiar. She saw at once the dissatisfaction in his face.

"I can't help it!" she said, with emphasis. "I did my best with it,
Arthur, but I'm not a genius at dressmaking. Never mind. Nobody will
take any notice of me."

He quite crossly rebuked her. She really must spend more on her dress.
It was unseemly--absurd. She looked as nice as anybody when she was
properly got up.

"Well, don't buy any more copper coal-scuttles!" she said slyly, as she
straightened his tie, and dropped a kiss on his chin. "Then we'll see."

They went down to dinner, and on the staircase Meadows turned to say to
his wife in a lowered voice:

"Lady Dunstable wants me to go to them in Scotland--for two or three
weeks. I dare say I could do some work."

"Oh, does she?" said Doris.

* * * * *

What perversity drove Lady Dunstable during the evening and the Sunday
that followed to match every attention that was lavished on Arthur
Meadows by some slight to his wife, will never be known. But the fact
was patent. Throughout the diversions or occupations of the forty-eight