flushed face to his, that he felt an odd moisture pricking his
eyes.

"Alix," he said, affectionately, "where do I fail you?"

For a moment she was silent, her bright eyes fixed on his.
Gradually the serious look on her face lightened, and her
customary smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

"I married you under a misapprehension," she said. "I thought you
had about three hundred dollars a year! It appears that you have
more than that every month--every week, for all I know--"

"You knew my mother had that old Pacific Avenue place!" he
answered with concern. "I never for one second deceived--"

"Oh, you idiot!" Alix laughed. "I don't mind being rich at all, I
like it. I don't want to live in the city, or join women's clubs,
and all that, but I like having my own check-book--truly, I do! As
for all the silver and portraits and rugs and things, why, we may
like them some day."

He was not listening to her; there was a sorry look in his eyes.

"You know, Alix," he said, suddenly, "you've made life a different
thing to me. I never had any woman near me before, and to hear
your voice about the house, and your piano, and your laugh--why,
it's wonderful to me. I've been alone here so many years, not
knowing really how much of life I missed, and you've brought it
all to me. Why, even to have Mrs. Florence at the post office ask