"Why not? I have known her nearly three months."
"Yes; and every month has been one too many. Do you think I cannot see the harm she is doing you? We might have led a happy, contented life it she were not here to poison it. What did you think of your home—before you met her? Everything was perfect! What did you say of it after?"
"Dowdy—old-fashioned—run to seed. Look at the transformation! Isn't my drawing-room a poem? Has not 'Liberty' descended like the goddess of Beauty on our abode, and made it the envy of our neighbours? Giddy has practically built me up, Philip. I owe her my dress-maker, my tailor, my style, my hats, my——"
"Oh! spare me," he interrupts, "I have heard it so often."
"Dear old fellow, don't be angry," coaxes Eleanor, with her old cajoling manner. "It is very hard for a poor little woman to be left alone all day, while her better half is frivoling in the City with stocks and shares, and all sorts of nice amusing things. There really is no harm in Giddy, and she is so awfully clever and entertaining."
"But I do not approve of the people you meet at her house, nor your frequent visits to town together. I don't wish my wife to be constantly seen with a woman of doubtful reputation."
"Nonsense about her reputation, it's all bosh! People are jealous of her beauty that say nasty things. She told me so herself. Besides, we only do a little shopping, and it is so dull going all by oneself."
Eleanor has crept into his arms, and is soothing his ruffled feeling with caresses.
"It is only because I love you, Eleanor," he says, with more passionately, hungering devotion than of yore. "Her companionship is not good for you, and she is always taking you away from me. That sounds selfish, doesn't it?"
"Well, I forgive you," she whispers, "if you will be less ferocious in the future. I declare, when you walk up and down—like this," imitating his stride, "and show the whites of your eyes—so! I want to hide under the sofa, and scream."