As a matter of fact, no man as clever as Hurstwood—­as observant and sensitive to atmospheres of many sorts, particularly upon his own plane of thought—­would have made the mistake which he did in regard to his wife, wrought up as she was, had he not been occupied mentally with a very different train of thought.  Had not the influence of Carrie’s regard for him, the elation which her promise aroused in him, lasted over, he would not have seen the house in so pleasant a mood.  It was not extraordinarily bright and merry this evening.  He was merely very much mistaken, and would have been much more fitted to cope with it had he come home in his normal state.

After he had studied his paper a few moments longer, he felt that he ought to modify matters in some way or other.  Evidently his wife was not going to patch up peace at a word.  So he said: 

“Where did George get the dog he has there in the yard?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped.

He put his paper down on his knees and gazed idly out of the window.  He did not propose to lose his temper, but merely to be persistent and agreeable, and by a few questions bring around a mild understanding of some sort.

“Why do you feel so bad about that affair of this morning? he said, at last.  “We needn’t quarrel about that.  You know you can go to Waukesha if you want to.”

“So you can stay here and trifle around with some one else?” she exclaimed, turning to him a determined countenance upon which was drawn a sharp and wrathful sneer.

He stopped as if slapped in the face.  In an instant his persuasive, conciliatory manner fled.  He was on the defensive at a wink and puzzled for a word to reply.

“What do you mean?” he said at last, straightening himself and gazing at the cold, determined figure before him, who paid no attention, but went on arranging herself before the mirror.

“You know what I mean,” she said, finally, as if there were a world of information which she held in reserve—­which she did not need to tell.

“Well, I don’t,” he said, stubbornly, yet nervous and alert for what should come next.  The finality of the woman’s manner took away his feeling of superiority in battle.

She made no answer.

“Hmph!” he murmured, with a movement of his head to one side.  It was the weakest thing he had ever done.  It was totally unassured.

Mrs. Hurstwood noticed the lack of color in it.  She turned upon him, animal-like, able to strike an effectual second blow.

“I want the Waukesha money to-morrow morning,” she said.

He looked at her in amazement.  Never before had he seen such a cold, steely determination in her eye—­such a cruel look of indifference.  She seemed a thorough master of her mood-thoroughly confident and determined to wrest all control from him.  He felt that all his resources could not defend him.  He must attack.