friction, the inexhaustible wearing, of feminine prejudice; forever
rolled in the resistless stream of women's ambition, their men became
round and smooth and admirable, like pebbles. This, he saw, in Fanny's
loving care, was happening to him: she had spun him into the center of
a silken web--

"You are not very polite," Mrs. Craddock said.

"Are you a mind-reader," he replied, "or haven't I heard you?"

"It doesn't matter," she explained, "but you were so far away."

He told her something of what had been in his thoughts, and she
rewarded him with a swift speculative interest. "I hadn't realized you
were so critical about your guinea hen," she acknowledged. "Well, if
what you say is true, what can you do about it?"

"Nothing," Lee returned non-committally; "I am comfortable." This, he
instantly decided, sounded unfair to Fanny, and he substituted happy.
Mrs. Craddock obviously was not interested in the change. "I get as
tired of this as you do," she asserted abruptly; "it's like being on a
merry-go-round someone else started and can't stop. You have no idea
how we get to hate the tunes."

"But you mustn't forget the chance of catching a gold ring," he
reminded her.

"It's brass," Mrs. Craddock asserted.

The orchestra began in the other room and, though dinner was not over,