Ruyler, little as he liked his mother-in-law, was intensely grateful to
her for the dexterity with which she had adjusted Hélène's mind to the
new condition. She even taught her how to keep books in an elemental way
and balanced them herself on the first of every month. As Hélène Ruyler
had a mind as quick and supple as it was cultivated in _les graces_, she
soon ceased to feel the chafing of her new harness, although she did
squander the sum she had reserved for three months mere pocket money upon
a hat; which was sent to the house by her wily milliner on the first day
of the second quarter. She confessed this with tears, and her husband,
who thought her feminine passion for hats adorable, dried her tears and
took her to the opening night of a new play. But he did not furnish the
pathetic little gold mesh bag, and as he made her promise not to borrow,
she did not treat her friends to tea or ices at any of the fashionable
rendezvous for a month. Then her native French thrift came to her aid and
she sold a superfluous gold purse, a wedding present, to an envious
friend at a handsome bargain.

That was ancient history now. It was twenty months since Price had
received a bill, and secret inquiries during the past two had satisfied
him that his wife's name was written in the books of no shop in San
Francisco that she would condescend to visit. Therefore, this maddening
but intangible barrier had nothing to do with a change of habit that had
not caused an hour of tears and sulks. Hélène had a quick temper but a
gay and sweet disposition, normally high spirits, little apparent
selfishness, and a naïve adoration of masculine superiority and strength;
altogether, with her high bred beauty and her dignity in public, an
enchanting creature and an ideal wife for a busy man of inherited social
position and no small degree of pride.