to it had supplied a never-ceasing small change of conversation between him and her.  He had let her go her way with a smile on his face.  Selma did not choose to dwell on the situation, but it was obvious that Lewis continued to look glum, and that there were apt to be long silences between them at meals.  Now and again he would show some impatience at the continuous recurrence of the Institute classes as a bar to some project of domesticity or recreation, as though she had not been an active member of the Institute before baby was born.

One of the plans in which Mrs. Earle was most interested was a Congress of Women’s Clubs, and in the early summer of the same year—­some four months subsequent to the death of Muriel Grace—­a small beginning toward this end was arranged to take place in Chicago.  There were to be six delegates from each club, and Selma was unanimously selected as one of the delegation from the Benham Women’s Institute.  The opinion was generally expressed that a change would do her good, and there was no question that she was admirably fitted to represent the club.  Selma, who had not travelled a hundred miles beyond Benham in her life, was elated at the prospect of the expedition; so much so that she proudly recounted to Lewis the same evening the news of her appointment.  It never occurred to her that he would wish to accompany her, and when he presently informed her that he had been wishing to go to Chicago on business for some time, and that the date proposed would suit him admirably, she was dumfounded.  Half of the interest of the expedition would consist in travelling as an independent delegation.  A husband would be in the way and spoil the savor of the occasion.  It would never do, and so Selma proceeded to explain.  She wished to go alone.

“A pack of six women travel by themselves?” blurted Lewis.  “Suppose there were an accident?” he added, after searching his brain for a less feeble argument.

“We should either be killed or we shouldn’t be,” said Selma firmly.  “We are perfectly well able to take care of ourselves.  Women travel alone everywhere every-day—­that is, intelligent American women.”

Lewis looked a little sad.  “I thought, perhaps, it would seem nice for you to go with me, Selma.  We haven’t been off since we were married, and I can get away now just as well as not.”

“So it would have been if I weren’t one of the delegation.  I should think you would see, Lewis, that your coming is out of the question.”

So it proved.  Selma set forth for Chicago on the appointed day, made many new acquaintances among the delegates, and was pleased to be introduced and referred to publicly as Mrs. Selma Babcock—­a form of address to which she was unaccustomed at Benham.  On the night before her departure, being in pleasant spirits, she told Lewis that her absence would do him good, and that he would appreciate her all the more on her return.