were particularly uninteresting. I had no time then for their chatter about art or music, or the books or plays or operas they seemed determined to discuss. The whole thing bored me immensely, and probably, because I do not believe in hypocrisy, I did not hesitate to let them see how I felt.

We did not leave New York for the summer months, except twice we spent a week or two at one of the big Atlantic City hotels. My business would have permitted me to leave for longer periods, but I did not feel that we should spend so much money.

One summer Ruth thoughtlessly suggested that we get away into the Maine woods and ramble, or to take a canoe trip somewhere. I explained to her how foolish that was—how she particularly, a girl of breeding, used to luxury, would not care for that in the way we could afford to do it. Camping was all right, if it were done properly. We Durrants once had a big camp in the Adirondacks—my grandfather had established it. There, with the proper staff of servants and with guests of the right kind one might rough it comfortably. But my father had given up that camp, and such things were, as yet, quite beyond my means.

I pointed out all this to Ruth, showing her plainly how illogical she was. And so we stayed in town.

These years, as I have said, were working out very satisfactorily to Ruth and me. I was getting my business on its feet and the time when we could enjoy some of the real luxuries of life did not now seem so very far distant. That Ruth should be so impatient at the delay had never occurred to me until one day, when we had been married about three years, she spoke of it.

“Are you going to keep on indefinitely this way, Will?” she asked quietly.

This was apropos of the fact that she wanted me to take her that evening to the opera. I disliked opera intensely—it seems to me an extremely morbid—not to say boring—form of amusement. And besides this was one of the nights our card game was on. I could not explain that to Ruth—she would not have realized how much more important to our ultimate good my evening’s winnings would be than a mere evening at the opera—which in itself was expensive.

“I’m going to the club,” I answered.

“Then I shall call up Gerald Rolf and ask him to take me,” she said.

She still spoke quietly. That was one of Ruth’s peculiarities, I was soon to discover; she concealed her feelings beneath a quiet, dignified reserve. I would 

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