cups was nicked, and I really like Sevres much better than Dresden.  I should have got Sevres when I bought them, only the man who had the Sevres I wanted would not give us credit.  We had no charge account there.  I don’t mind in the least; but I think that dressmaker was very impolite to take the things, because, of course, we shall never feel that we can conscientiously give her any more of our custom; and we have given her a great deal of work, with dear Ina’s wedding and everything, more than anybody in Banbridge.  No, I don’t mind in the least about these things.  I can rise above that when it is a question of my husband.  And when you talk of having to leave Banbridge, that does not daunt me at all.  On the whole, I would rather leave Banbridge.  I should like to live a little nearer the City, and I should like more grounds, and a house with more conveniences.  For one thing, we have no butler’s pantry here, and that is really a great inconvenience.  Take it altogether, the house, and the distance from New York, I shall not be at all sorry to move.  And” (Mrs. Carroll’s sweet face looked hard and set, her gently pouting mouth widened into a straight line; she had that uncanny expression of docile and yielding people when they assume a firm attitude), “I shall not go away and leave you, Arthur,” she repeated; “Anna shall not stay here with you and I go to Aunt Catherine’s.  If any one stays, I stay.  I am your wife, and I am the one to stay.  I know my duty.”

“Amy, dear,” said Carroll, “it will really make me happier to know that you are more comfortable and happy than I can make you this winter.”

“I shall not be comfortable and happy,” said she.  “No, Arthur, you need not pet me; I am quite in earnest.  You treat me always as if I were a child.  You do, and all the rest, even my own children.  And I think myself that two-thirds of me is a child, but one-third is not, and now it is the one-third that is talking, and quite seriously.  It is I who am going to stay with you, and not Anna.”

“Anna is not going to stay either, sweetheart,” Carroll said.

A quick change came over Mrs. Carroll’s face.  She looked inquiringly at her sister-in-law.  “Anna said she would not go,” she said.

“She has thought better of it,” Carroll said, quietly.

“Yes, Amy, I am going,” Anna said, wearily, “and I don’t think you had better decide positively to-night whether you will go or not.  Leave it until to-morrow.”

“But how could you get along without anybody to keep house for you all winter, Arthur?” asked Mrs. Carroll.

“As thousands of men get along,” Carroll replied.  “I can take my meals at the inn, and somebody could be got to come by the day and see to the furnace and the house.”

“I suppose somebody could,” Mrs. Carroll agreed, a frown of reflection on her smooth forehead.

She wept piteously when it came to parting, two weeks later, but she went.