“William,” said his wife, “do you place a low desire for money before your own sister-in-law’s spiritual happiness?”

“No, darling, of course not.”

“Then you and I had better pray for the immediate bankruptcy of the Green Mouse.”

Her husband said, “By all means,” without enthusiasm, and looked out of the window.  “Still,” he added, “I made a happy marriage.  I’m for wedding bells every time.  Sacharissa will like it, too.  I don’t know why you and I shouldn’t be enthusiastic optimists concerning wedded life; I can’t see why we shouldn’t pray for Sacharissa’s early marriage.”

“William!”

“Yes, darling.”

“You are considering money before my sister’s happiness!”

“But in her case I don’t see why we can’t conscientiously consider both.”

Linda cast one tragic glance at her material husband, pushed her sister aside, arose and fled.  After her sped the contrite Destyn; a distant door shut noisily; all the elements had gathered for the happy, first quarrel of the newly wedded.

“Fudge,” said Sacharissa, walking to the window, slim hands clasped loosely behind her back.

VI

IN WRONG

Wherein Sacharissa Remains In and a Young Man Can’t Get Out

The snowstorm had ceased; across Fifth Avenue the Park resembled the mica-incrusted view on an expensive Christmas card.  Every limb, branch, and twig was outlined in clinging snow; crystals of it glittered under the morning sun; brilliantly dressed children, with sleds, romped and played over the dazzling expanse.  Overhead the characteristic deep blue arch of a New York sky spread untroubled by a cloud.  Her family—­that is, her father, brother-in-law, married sister, three unmarried sisters and herself—­were expecting to leave for Tuxedo about noon.  Why?  Nobody knows why the wealthy are always going somewhere.  However, they do, fortunately for story writers.

“It’s quite as beautiful here,” thought Sacharissa to herself, “as it is in the country.  I’m sorry I’m going.”

Idling there by the sunny window and gazing out into the white expanse, she had already dismissed all uneasiness in her mind concerning the psychical experiment upon herself.  That is to say, she had not exactly dismissed it, she used no conscious effort, it had gone of itself—­or, rather, it had been crowded out, dominated by a sudden and strong disinclination to go to Tuxedo.

As she stood there the feeling grew and persisted, and, presently, she found herself repeating aloud:  “I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go.  It’s stupid to go.  Why should I go when it’s stupid to go and I’d rather stay here?”

Meanwhile, Ethelinda and Destyn were having a classical reconciliation in a distant section of the house, and the young wife had got as far as: 

“Darling, I am so worried about Rissa.  I do wish she were not going to Tuxedo.  There are so many attractive men expected at the Courlands’.”