That man was Spencer Chisholm! Gracious, think of it! The Chisholms, Stephen! Think of it! An affair between me and Spencer Chisholm!" Her eyes sparkled.
Stephen turned away. It was going to be as difficult to stamp out Stella's vulgarity as to rid a lawn of the persistent dandelion once it gets its roots down. Stephen despised kow-towing.
"The Chisholms! My dear Stella, I hope you'll avoid that attitude toward people hereafter. You're my wife now."
"And can't look at another man?" she flashed.
"That isn't the point."
"Mercy," she went right on, "I can't help it if a man wants to dance with me. I should think you'd be pleased to have your wife popular. Most men would be. Most men—"
"I'm not pleased to have you talked about. Please don't give any one occasion to again, Stella."
"Good Lord, Stephen, you're not going to turn out to be the jealous kind, I hope, if another man looks at me."
Stephen winced.
"I hate a jealous man," she went on. "I always have!" And she threw down her comb upon the dressing-table. It screeched as it struck the plate-glass protection.
Stephen winced again. Throwing things! His wife! Accusing him of jealousy! Very quietly he went out into the hall, and stood a moment in the darkness, waiting till his jarred nerves stopped tingling.
"I must be patient," he thought. "It isn't her
