"Why, have you not arrived from Paris to-night to have that serious talk with him about the mine?
Doesn't it seem to you doubly provoking that he didn't stay until to-morrow or that you didn't arrive yesterday?
Why, why, why did he run away to-night before nine ?" "Why before nine ?" said her husband.
"Heavens! Was not that the hour when you arrived home?
You said so just now," she cried.

Then she picked up her wrap.

Phyllis had thrown it over a chair when it had lain in a heap on the floor as Cleopatra's wrap may have lain when she was carried into the presence of her lover.

"My dear Stephen, don't you think that as it is past nine, and Mr.Courtland is probably some miles out at sea with his head reposing on something hard,--there is nothing soft about a yacht,--we should make a move in the direction of home?
It seems pretty clear that you will have no serious talk with him to-night.

Alas! my Phyllis, our dream of happiness is over.