of myself, even though I am a woman.' That was the end of it. There was
no use for either of us to get excited. I packed my things, and a few
mornings later I said to him, 'Good-by, Ellery Earle: I wish you well,
and I suppose you're my husband still, but I'm going to live my own life
without let or hindrance from any man. There's your ring.' My holding
out the ring was startling to him, for he said, 'Aren't you going to be
sorry for this, Margaret?' 'No,' said I, 'I've thought it all out, and
it's best for both of us. There's your ring.' He wouldn't take it, so I
dropped it on the table and went out. Some people miss it, and
misbelieve I was ever married. That was close on to twenty years ago,
and I've never seen him since. When the war broke out I heard he
enlisted, but what's become of him I don't know. Maybe he got a divorce.
I've kept right on and lived my own life in my own way, and never lacked
food or raiment. I'm forty-five years old, but I feel a young woman
still."

Notwithstanding Mrs. Earle's business-like directness and the
protuberance of her bust in conclusion, by way of reasserting her
satisfaction with the results of her action, there was a touch of
plaintiveness in her confession which suggested the womanly author of
"Hints on Culture and Hygiene," rather than the man-hater. This was lost
on Selma, who was fain to sympathize purely from the stand-point of
righteousness.

"It was splendid," she said. "He had no right to prevent you living your
own life. No husband has that right."

Mrs. Earle brushed her eyes with her handkerchief. "You musn't think, my
dear, that I'm not a believer in the home because mine has been
unhappy--because my husband didn't or couldn't understand. The true home