"I don't see what you're driving at, Belle; I give it up," had responded the puzzled husband.

Mrs.Tucker kissed his high but foolish forehead tenderly, and said, "I'm glad you don't, dear." Meanwhile her second visitor had, like the first, employed the interval in a critical survey of the glories of the new furniture, but with apparently more compassion than resentment in his manner.

Once only had his expression changed.

Over the fireplace hung a large photograph of Mr.Spencer Tucker.

It was retouched, refined, and idealized in the highest style of that polite and diplomatic art.