discerns, and saw the inevitableness of the ultimatum of all
irregularities in a world which, however irregular it is in practice,
still holds regularity as its model of conduct and progression. Ida
Edgham would, in the desperate state of the earth before the flood,
have made herself famous. As it was, her irregular talents had a
limited field; however, she did all she could. It always seemed to
her that, as far as the right and wrong of things went, her own
happiness was eminently right, and that it was distinctly wrong for
her, or any one else, to oppose any obstacle to it. She allowed the
pleasant influences of the passing moment to have their full effect
upon her husband, and she continued her leading up to the subject by
those easy and apparently unrelated sequences which none but a
diplomat could have managed.

"Thank you, dear," she said, when Harry resumed his seat. "The air is
cold but very clear and pleasant out to-day," she continued.

"It looks so," said Harry.

"Still, if I were you, I think I would not go out; it might make your
cold worse," said Ida.

"No, I think it would be full as well for me to stay in to-day,"
replied Harry happily. He hemmed a little as he spoke, realizing the
tickle in his throat with rather a pleasant sense of importance than
annoyance. He stretched himself luxuriously in his chair, and gazed
about the warm, perfumed, luxurious apartment.

"You have to go out to-morrow, anyway," said Ida, and she increased
his sense of present comfort by that remark.