“Yes,” said young George.

“Who with?”

“Miss Carmichael.”

Mrs. Hurstwood directed an inquiring glance at her husband, but could not judge from his appearance whether it was any more than a casual look into the theatre which was referred to.

“How was the play?” she inquired.

“Very good,” returned Hurstwood, “only it’s the same old thing, ’Rip Van Winkle.’”

“Whom did you go with?” queried his wife, with assumed indifference.

“Charlie Drouet and his wife.  They are friends of Moy’s, visiting here.”

Owing to the peculiar nature of his position, such a disclosure as this would ordinarily create no difficulty.  His wife took it for granted that his situation called for certain social movements in which she might not be included.  But of late he had pleaded office duty on several occasions when his wife asked for his company to any evening entertainment.  He had done so in regard to the very evening in question only the morning before.

“I thought you were going to be busy,” she remarked, very carefully.

“So I was,” he exclaimed.  “I couldn’t help the interruption, but I made up for it afterward by working until two.”

This settled the discussion for the time being, but there was a residue of opinion which was not satisfactory.  There was no time at which the claims of his wife could have been more unsatisfactorily pushed.  For years he had been steadily modifying his matrimonial devotion, and found her company dull.  Now that a new light shone upon the horizon, this older luminary paled in the west.  He was satisfied to turn his face away entirely, and any call to look back was irksome.

She, on the contrary, was not at all inclined to accept anything less than a complete fulfillment of the letter of their relationship, though the spirit might be wanting.

“We are coming down town this afternoon,” she remarked, a few days later.  “I want you to come over to Kinsley’s and meet Mr. Phillips and his wife.  They’re stopping at the Tremont, and we’re going to show them around a little.”

After the occurrence of Wednesday, he could not refuse, though the Phillips were about as uninteresting as vanity and ignorance could make them.  He agreed, but it was with short grace.  He was angry when he left the house.

“I’ll put a stop to this,” he thought.  “I’m not going to be bothered fooling around with visitors when I have work to do.”

Not long after this Mrs. Hurstwood came with a similar proposition, only it was to a matinee this time.

“My dear,” he returned, “I haven’t time.  I’m too busy.”

“You find time to go with other people, though,” she replied, with considerable irritation.

“Nothing of the kind,” he answered.  “I can’t avoid business relations, and that’s all there is to it.”

“Well, never mind,” she exclaimed.  Her lips tightened.  The feeling of mutual antagonism was increased.