"Yes," I murmured husbandly, "delicious, delicious! My dear, you
certainly plan the most delightful meals." Meanwhile I was glancing
feverishly at the daily Quiz column to see if that noble cascade of
popular information might give any help. It did not.

Clear brown eyes looked across the table gravely. I could feel them
through the spring overcoat ads.

"What is an equinox?"

"I think I must have left my matches upstairs," I said, and went up to
look for them. I stayed aloft ten minutes and hoped that by that time
she would have passed on to some other topic. I did not waste my time,
however; I looked everywhere for the "Children's Book of a Million
Reasons," until I remembered it was under the dining-room table taking
the place of a missing caster.

When I slunk into the living room again I hastily suggested a game of
double Canfield, but Titania's brow was still perplexed. Looking across
at me with that direct brown gaze that would compel even a milliner to
relent, she asked:

"What is an equinox?"

I tried to pass it off flippantly.

"A kind of alarm clock," I said, "that lets the bulbs and bushes know
it's time to get up."