"Then we'll go for a little drive," she said, "and on our way back, we
can stop there and get the things I bought the other day. They have no
one to send with them, and it's too much for one person to carry,
anyway."

"I suppose she has sold everything she had," mused Allan impersonally.

"Not quite," answered Eloise, flushing. "I left her some samples for the
Woman's Exchange."

"Very kind," he observed, with the same air of detachment. "I can see my
finish. My wife will have so much charity work for me to do that there
will be no time for anything else, and, in a little while, she will have
given away all the money we both have. Then when we're sitting together
in the sun on the front steps of the poorhouse, we can fittingly lament
the end of our usefulness."

[Sidenote: Policy of Segregation]

"They won't let us sit together," she retorted. "Don't you know that
even in the old people's homes they keep the men and women
apart--husbands and wives included?"

"For the love of Mike, what for?" he asked, in surprise.

"Because it makes the place too gay and frivolous. Old ladies of eighty
were courted by awkward swains of ninety and more, and there was so much
checker-playing in the evening and so many lights burning, and so many
requests for new clothes, that the management couldn't stand it. There
were heart-burnings and jealousies, too, so they had to adopt a policy