"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.