He paused, frightened at the lengths to which his uneasiness had forced him. His wife's smile gave way to a puzzled look as she returned very quietly,—
'Do you really think it worth while to face these imaginary situations?'
His resentment flared again at the comfortable evenness of her tone. 'Yes, I do,' he snapped back. 'It helps one to exercise one's morals. I wanted to know just how I would act in such an emergency. And I've found out. The very thought frightens me too much. I know that I should feel morally bound to confess, but I'd never have the courage of my convictions. Now, what do you suppose you would advise me to do in a situation like that? What would you tell me to do?'
Kitty Scidmore looked straight at her husband. He dropped his eyes.
'I would not advise you, John,' she said, distinctly. He glanced up at her. 'You'd not say a word?'
She shook her head. 'No, it wouldn't be necessary.'
He began to stir his tea. His hand was shaking, and his spoon rattled noisily against the teacup.
IV
After he had helped Kitty with the dishes, John Scidmore left the house for a walk. It was a calm, beautiful night, lit by a slender moon hung high in the heavens and stars twinkling cheerily. As he went along the elm-shaded streets, he drew in deep breaths, striving to steady the tumult within him.
Kitty's words hummed themselves into his inner consciousness. 'No, John, it wouldn't be necessary.' What did she really mean? Did she think he had the courage to settle such a question decisively—righteously? Did— He stopped, turning the phrase over in his mind. He knew that materially he had been a failure. People called him a nice fellow and let it go at that. Was it possible for his wife, the wife who had lived so close to all his weaknesses, to glorify him with so large a hope? The thought began to thrill him.