a whole, it had an atmosphere--an atmosphere of simple unaffected
refinement. Their domestic belongings had come to them from their
parents, and they had never had the means to replenish them. When, in
due time, they had realized their artistic worthlessness, they had held
to them through affection, humorously conscious of the incongruity that
two such modern individuals as themselves should be living in a domestic
museum. Then, presto! friends had begun to congratulate them on the
uniqueness of their establishment, and to express affection for it. It
had become a favorite resort for many modern spirits--artists, literary
men, musicians, self-supporting women--and Pauline's oyster suppers,
cooked in her grandmother's blazer, were still a stimulus to high
thinking.

So matters stood when Selma entered it as a bride. Her coming signified
the breaking up of the household and the establishment. Pauline had
thought that out in her clear brain over night since receiving Wilbur's
telegram. Wilbur must move into a modern house, and she into a modern
flat. She would keep the very old things, such as the blazer and some
andirons and a pair of candlesticks, for they were ancient enough to be
really artistic, but the furniture of the immediate past, her father and
mother's generation, should be sold at auction. Wilbur and she must, if
only for Selma's sake, become modern in material matters as well as in
their mental interests.

Pauline proceeded to unfold this at the dinner-table that evening. She
had heard in the meanwhile from her brother, the story of Selma's
divorce and the explanation of his sudden marriage; and in consequence,
she felt the more solicitous that her sister-in-law's new venture should
begin propitiously. It was agreed that Wilbur should make inquiries at
once about houses further uptown, and that his present lease from year