To have Mrs. Dillingham in the house for a whole day, and particularly to make desirable acquaintances so easily, was a rare privilege.  He would speak to Mrs. Belcher about it, and he was sure there could be but one answer.  To be frank about it, he did not intend there should be but one answer; but, for form’s sake, it would be best to consult her.  Mr. Belcher did not say—­what was the truth—­that the guilt in his heart made him more careful to consult Mrs. Belcher in the matter than he otherwise would have been; but now that his loyalty to her had ceased, he became more careful to preserve its semblance.  There was a tender quality in Mrs. Dillingham’s voice as she parted with him for the evening, and a half returned, suddenly relinquished response to the pressure of his hand, which left the impression that she had checked an eager impulse.  Under the influence of these, the man went out from her presence, flattered to his heart’s core, and with his admiration of her self-contained and prudent passion more exalted than ever.

Mr. Belcher went directly home, and into Mrs. Belcher’s room.  That good lady was alone, quietly reading.  The children had retired, and she was spending her time after her custom.

“Well, Sarah, what sort of a Christmas have you had?”

Mrs. Belcher bit her lip, for there was something in her husband’s tone which conveyed the impression that he was preparing to wheedle her into some scheme upon which he had set his heart, and which he felt or feared, would not be agreeable to her.  She had noticed a change in him.  He was tenderer toward her than he had been for years, yet her heart detected the fact that the tenderness was a sham.  She could not ungraciously repel it, yet she felt humiliated in accepting it.  So, as she answered his question with the words:  “Oh, much the same as usual,” she could not look into his face with a smile upon her own.

“I’ve just been over to call on Mrs. Dillingham,” said he.

“Ah?”

“Yes; I thought I would drop in and give her the compliments of the season.  She’s rather lonely, I fancy.”

“So am I.”

“Well now, Sarah, there’s a difference; you know there is.  You have your children, and—­”

“And she my husband.”

“Well, she’s an agreeable woman, and I must go out sometimes.  My acquaintance with agreeable women in New York is not very large.”

“Why don’t you ask your wife to go with you?  I’m fond of agreeable women too.”

“You are not fond of her, and I’m afraid she suspects it.”

“I should think she would.  Women who are glad to receive alone the calls of married men, always do suspect their wives of disliking them.”

“Well, it certainly isn’t her fault that men go to see her without their wives.  Don’t be unfair now, my dear.”

“I don’t think I am,” responded Mrs. Belcher.  “I notice that women never like other women who are great favorites with men; and there must be some good reason for it.  Women like Mrs. Dillingham, who abound in physical fascinations for men, have no liking for the society of their own sex.  I have never heard a woman speak well of her, and I have never heard her speak well of any other woman.”