“After dinner I’ll take you back home, Dele,” said Mr. Dougherty, “and then I’ll drop back up to Seltzer’s with the boys.  You can have swell chuck to-night if you want it.  I made a winning on Anaconda yesterday; so you can go as far as you like.”

Mr. Dougherty had intended to make the outing with his unwonted wife an inconspicuous one.  Uxoriousness was a weakness that the precepts of the Caribs did not countenance.  If any of his friends of the track, the billiard cloth or the square circle had wives they had never complained of the fact in public.  There were a number of table d’hote places on the cross streets near the broad and shining way; and to one of these he had purposed to escort her, so that the bushel might not be removed from the light of his domesticity.

But while on the way Mr. Dougherty altered those intentions.  He had been casting stealthy glances at his attractive companion and he was seized with the conviction that she was no selling plater.  He resolved to parade with his wife past Seltzer’s cafe, where at this time a number of his tribe would be gathered to view the daily evening procession.  Yes; and he would take her to dine at Hoogley’s, the swellest slow-lunch warehouse on the line, he said to himself.

The congregation of smooth-faced tribal gentlemen were on watch at Seltzer’s.  As Mr. Dougherty and his reorganized Delia passed they stared, momentarily petrified, and then removed their hats—­a performance as unusual to them as was the astonishing innovation presented to their gaze by “Big Jim”.  On the latter gentleman’s impassive face there appeared a slight flicker of triumph—­a faint flicker, no more to be observed than the expression called there by the draft of little casino to a four-card spade flush.

Hoogley’s was animated.  Electric lights shone as, indeed, they were expected to do.  And the napery, the glassware and the flowers also meritoriously performed the spectacular duties required of them.  The guests were numerous, well-dressed and gay.

A waiter—­not necessarily obsequious—­conducted “Big Jim” Dougherty and his wife to a table.

“Play that menu straight across for what you like, Dele,” said “Big Jim.”  “It’s you for a trough of the gilded oats to-night.  It strikes me that maybe we’ve been sticking too fast to home fodder.”

“Big Jim’s” wife gave her order.  He looked at her with respect.  She had mentioned truffles; and he had not known that she knew what truffles were.  From the wine list she designated an appropriate and desirable brand.  He looked at her with some admiration.

She was beaming with the innocent excitement that woman derives from the exercise of her gregariousness.  She was talking to him about a hundred things with animation and delight.  And as the meal progressed her cheeks, colorless from a life indoors, took on a delicate flush.  “Big Jim” looked around the room and saw that none of the women there had her charm.  And then he thought of the three years she had suffered immurement, uncomplaining, and a flush of shame warmed him, for he carried fair play as an item in his creed.