her strange actions if she could possibly manage to do so. "Will you be good enough to enlighten me.
"Will I?" she inquired with a fine irony. "Will I? I certainly will, George Judson, for I have received a good deal of enlightenment myself. For one thing, I learned from Eleanor Hickson all about your wretched failure with the Nemos. I learned the truth about that—not from my husband, but from the lips of a stranger. George Judson," she accused vehemently, and seemed as if on the point of seizing and shaking him, "why didn't you tell me the condition of your business?"
George gave back a little before the force with which she pressed her attack. Besides, this was a shot that went home. "But I—I did it to be kind," he faltered. "I wanted to spare you."
"But will you be kind enough to observe what a fool it made of me?" she inquired with biting sarcasm.
"Fool!" The husband's features framed utter protest. "Oh, now, Fay, dear!" he pleaded. "I can't stand for that."
"But you made me stand for it!" she resented hotly.
"How—I'd like to know?" George inquired stubbornly, but rather bewildered, and perceiv-
