joy out of everything so? Why don't you let me have a little fun in life without all this argument? I get sick to death of it."
"Oh, very well."
"Yes, you say 'very well,' but you'll be at me again to-morrow. I don't find fault with you, do I?"
"No."
"Well—?"
Stephen was silent.
"That's right, now get glum and sulky, and don't say anything to me but stiff formal things for a week. Oh, gracious!"
Stella could forget all about such a discussion as this by the following morning. "I'm blessed with a good disposition," she was fond of boasting. "Dad used to say it was almost impossible to worry me cross when I was a kid. Come on, Stephen, cheer up."
If Stephen didn't, if he couldn't "cheer up," Stella would fling down her comb, or slam a door, and five minutes later be heard humming a song in her bath. Stephen suffered.
6
"Why did you ever marry me, Stella?" once despairingly he inquired.
"Why, because I was crazy about you. I thought you were perfectly great."
"How can a woman be crazy about a man—care for a man, and not be willing to adapt herself somewhat to him, to give up a few things for him?"
"How would it do for you to do a little of the adapting, Stephen, a little of the giving up? Why did you ever marry me?" she retorted.
