on a platter and the teapot in the other hand. "I 'll attend to that. It 'll be variety that will tire him, if he does."
"And you 'll tire of him."
"If I do, I 'll never let him know it. Now"—she put the omelet before him—"help that before it goes flat. Won't you take off your ulster?"
He was hungry enough to be diverted by the sight of food, and gentle enough to be mollified by an offering of hospitality, but he still insisted, even as he took off the coat: "You 're acting. There 's not a thing of your real self in the whole house. You 're pretending that you were never on the stage. Not even a picture."
"You have n't seen the garret. Cream and sugar?" she asked, pouring his tea. "Real cream. We have a cow. I milk her."
He had to say: "Please. Two lumps." He helped her to a portion of the omelet, and she smiled hospitably upon him as she took her plate from him and passed him his cup. "Jack says I brew tea like an Englishwoman."
"Now look here," he said, as he attacked his omelet, with the air of a man who was accustomed to transacting business at luncheon, "you can't put me off. I 've caught you, and you might as well give up first as last. Who is he? Eh? Where did you meet him? Why did you marry him? Why did you run away and hide?"
"Because," she replied, addressing herself daintily
