abruptly.

Henry continued digging around the roots of a peony. "I don't know as
anything ailed us. I don't know what you are driving at," he replied,
lying unhesitatingly.

"Something did ail you. You can't cheat me."

"I don't know what you are driving at."

"Something did ail you. You'll spoil that peony. You've got all the
weeds out. What on earth are you digging round it that way for? What
ailed you?"

"I don't know what you are driving at."

"You can't cheat me. Something is to pay. For the land's sake, leave
that peony alone, and get the weeds out from around that syringa
bush. You act as if you were possessed. What ailed you and Mr. Allen
this morning? I want to know."

"I don't know what you are driving at," Henry said again, but he
obediently turned his attention to the syringa bush. He always obeyed
a woman in small matters, and reserved his masculine prerogatives for
large ones.

Sylvia returned to the house. Her mouth was set hard. Nobody knew how
on occasions Sylvia longed for another woman to whom to speak her
mind. She loved her husband, but no man was capable of entirely
satisfying all her moods. She started to go to the attic on another