The study door was still shut as she passed downstairs and into the little parlor. Her workbasket was standing by her chair, piled high with mending that she had neglected for her pleasuring. It was Saturday night, and no good housewife should let the duties of one week overlap the next.

Simeon's aphorism, "A day off means a night on," seemed likely to be her experience with darning needle and patches, but it was a quarter past seven, and she deferred beginning her task till after tea. The servant announced the meal, and by Deena's orders knocked at the study door, but got no response; indeed, the _piece_de_resistance_ -the smoked beef and eggs-had almost hardened into a solid cake before the friends emerged, arm in arm, and followed Deena to the table. French drew out her chair with that slight exaggeration of courtesy that lent a charm to all he did, and with his hands still on the bar he bent over her and said-smiling the while at Simeon: "I have been telling your husband of what I hinted to you this afternoon, Mrs.