courteous gentleman who informed me of your predicament happened to be
a cousin of Mr. Banks, of Head and Banks. (They supply your grain, I
believe?) Mrs. Howe (isn't it R. E. Howe who is president of the
Newcomb Club?) was at my elbow. The salesgirl has Sam junior's
Sunday-school class. Doubtless it will interest them all to know you
are in such straits you can't clothe your children."

Ah? She had touched his vulnerable point? Instantly she was swept by
compunction, by impulses to make amends, to him, to their love. Their
love! That delicate wild thing she kept in a warm, moist, sheltered
place, and forbore to look at for yellowing leaves.

Like the battle of Blenheim, it was a famous victory, but what good
came of it at last? The overcoat came home, to be sure, with cap and
shoes besides. But she was too gallant to press her advantage.
Besides, she still looked for him to take a hint.

He did, after his own fashion. "You ought to see Judith here," he
laughed to a caller, "practising her kindergarten methods on me." His
imperturbability was at once a boast and a slight.

"He doesn't mean it," she apologized, later, protecting herself by
defending him. "You know how men are; the best of them a bit stupid
about some things. They don't mean to hurt you. You know it, but you
can't help crying."

"Oh, I understand!" (That any one should sympathize with her! It was
not so much her vanity that suffered as her precious regard for him,
her pride in their marriage.) "Nobody minds little things like that
against such devotion and constancy. Why, he talks of you all the