evenings were growing. But across the table came one of those glances
familiar to indiscreet husbands. Passion distorted, vibrant with rebuke,
charged with the lightning of instant dissolution, Mrs. Blackwell's gaze
struck him dumb with alarm. Husbands, husbands, you know that gaze!

Mr. Blackwell kept silence. He ate heartily, choosing foods rich in
calories. He talked of other matters, and accepted thankfully what
Belinda brought to him. But he was chilly, and a vision of coal bills
danced in his mind.

* * * * *

After dinner he lit the open fire in the living room, and he and Mrs.
Blackwell talked in discreet tones. Belinda was merrily engaged in
washing the dishes.

"Bob, you consummate blockhead!" said Mrs. Blackwell, "haven't you
better sense than to talk about its being chilly? These last few days
Belinda has done nothing but complain about the cold. She comes from
Barbados, where the thermometer never goes below sixty. She said she
couldn't sleep last night, her room was so cold. I've given her my old
fur coat and the steamer rug from your den. One other remark like that
of yours and she'll leave. For heaven's sake, Bob, use your skull!"

Mr. Blackwell gazed at her in concern. The deep, calculating wisdom of
women was made plain to him. He ventured no reply.

Mrs. Blackwell was somewhat softened by his docility.

"You don't realize, dear," she added, "how servants are affected by