apparent. How would it sound to have to explain to her grandmother
that she had left him because he took an inconvenient train? "I'd
like to see him try this sort of thing if we'd been married six
months instead of six weeks," she muttered.

She refused to talk with him, answered him in cold monosyllables.
And after dinner, when he produced the volume of Emerson and began
to read aloud, she curtly asked him to be quiet. "I wish to
sleep!" snapped she.

"Do, dear," urged he. And he put his arm around her.

"That's very uncomfortable," said she, trying to draw away.

He drew her back, held her--and she knew she must either submit or
make a scene. There was small attraction to scene-making with such
a master of disgraceful and humiliating scenes as he. "He wouldn't
care a rap," she muttered. "He simply revels in scenes, knowing
he's sure to win out at them as a mongrel in a fight with a"--even
in that trying moment her sense of humor did not leave her--"with
a lapdog."

She found herself comfortable and amazingly content, leaning
against his shoulder; and presently she went to sleep, he holding
the book in his free hand and reading calmly. The next thing she
knew he was shaking her gently. "Albany," he said. "We've got to
change here."

She rose sleepily and followed him from the car, adjusting her hat
as she went. She had thought she would be wretched; instead, she