"I've asked Roger Adams to luncheon," pursued Perry, too concerned to
resent her lack of sympathy, "but there are nine chances to one that he
will stay away."

"Experience has taught me," rejoined Gerty sweetly, "that your friend
Adams can be absolutely counted on to stay away. Do you know," she
resumed after a moment's thought, "that, though he's probably the
brainiest man of our acquaintance, I sometimes seriously wonder what you
see in him."

A flush of anger darkened Perry's clear skin, and this sudden change
gave him an almost brutal look. "I'd like to know if I'm a blamed fool?"
he demanded.

Her merriment struck pleasantly on his ears.

"Do you want to destroy the illusion in which I married you?" she asked.
"It was, after all, simply the belief that size is virtue."

The flush passed, and he took in a full breath which expanded his broad
chest. "Well, I'm big enough," he answered, "but it isn't Adam's fault
that he hasn't got my muscle."

With a leisurely glance in the mirror, he settled his necktie in place,
twisted the short ends of his moustache, and then stooped to kiss his
wife before going out.

"Don't you let yourself get seedy and lose your looks," he said as he
left the room.