champion, his secret ally in all domestic matters, quick to see
that his mail and his telephone messages were sacred, that his
meals never were late, and that any small request, such as the use
of the study for some unexpected conference, or the speedy sending
of a telegram, was promptly granted.

Isabelle was always breezily civil to her husband; he had long ago
vanished as completely from among the vital elements of her life
as if he were dead, perhaps more than if he were dead. She
thought--if she thought about him at all--that he never saw her
little affairs; she supposed him perfectly satisfied with his home
and children and club and business, and incidentally with his
beautiful figurehead of a wife. They had quarrelled distressingly,
several years ago, when he had bored her with references to her
"duty," and her influence over Nina, and her obligations to her
true self. But that had all stopped long since, and now Isabelle
was free to sleep late, to dress at leisure, to make what
engagements she pleased, to see the persons who interested her.
Richard never interfered; never was there a more perfectly
discreet and generous husband. Half the women Isabelle knew were
attempting to live exactly as she did, to cultivate "suitors," and
drift about in an atmosphere of new gowns and adulation and
orchids and softly lighted drawing rooms, and incessant playing
with fire; it was the accepted thing, in Isabelle's circle, and
that she was more successful in it than other women was not at all
to her discredit.

Even Harriet, who was in her secrets, who saw maid and masseuse
and hair-dresser in desperate defence of Isabelle's beauty every
morning, who knew just what scenes there were over gowns and