world, without any of our glory in the cause of it."

Nevertheless, when supper was over, and the pair were seated in the
sitting-room before the fire, this episode was forgotten. Mrs. Rylands
produced her husband's pipe and tobacco-pouch. He looked around the
formal walls and hesitated. He had been in the habit of smoking in the
kitchen.

"Why not here?" said Mrs. Rylands, with a sudden little note of
decision. "Why should we keep this room only for company that don't
come? I call it silly."

This struck Mr. Rylands as logical. Besides, undoubtedly the fire had
mellowed the room. After a puff or two he looked at his wife musingly.
"Couldn't you make yourself one of them cigarettys, as they call 'em?
Here's the tobacco, and I'll get you the paper."

"I COULD," she said tentatively. Then suddenly, "What made you think of
it? You never saw ME smoke!"

"No," said Rylands, "but that lady, your old friend, Miss Clifford,
does, and I thought you might be hankering after it."

"How do you know Tinkie Clifford smokes?" said Mrs. Rylands quickly.

"She lit a cigaretty that day she called."

"I hate it," said Mrs. Rylands shortly.

Mr. Rylands nodded approval, and puffed meditatively.