“But how is it now?” went on Fanny with an attempt at dignity.  “Now, I’m Mrs. James Gillie, sister of the rich Mrs. Robert Stafford, with whom I have just spent an evening at the opera and who I am now visiting in her French boudoir!  Sometimes I don’t believe it’s real, and I find myself getting ready to wake up just in time to hear the alarm go off!”

“It is real enough, Fanny,” smiled her sister.  After a pause, she asked:  “And you—­you are happy?”

“Of course I am,” said the other, dropping into a seat.  “Why shouldn’t I be?  Haven’t I got James and the baby and a pretty flat, and a maid to do the work.  And isn’t James getting a hundred a week from Mr. Stafford?  Well, I should say I am happy!”

“I’m so glad,” murmured Virginia with a sigh.

Looking up quickly, Fanny asked: 

“You’re happy, too, aren’t you?”

Virginia made no reply for a moment.  Then she said hesitatingly

“Yes—­”

Fanny looked closely at her.  Was there any foundation for the story Jimmie had told her?  Was her sister unhappy?  Did all this luxury conceal an aching heart?

“If you’re not,” she said tentatively, “I don’t know what you want.  Nobody could be a better husband than Robert.  He’s just the kindest, nicest man; a woman simply couldn’t help loving him.”

Virginia made no answer and Fanny continued: 

“You do love him, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Virginia hesitatingly, “most of the time.  In fact, nearly all of the time.”

“Most of the time—­nearly all the time,” exclaimed Fanny.  “What do you think love is?  Off again, on again, Finnigan!  You either love a man or you don’t; at least, that’s the way I understand it.”

Virginia shook her head.  Gravely she said: 

“The trouble is that you don’t understand—­this.”

Fanny put her arm round her sister’s neck.  Sympathetically she said: 

“What is it, dear?  Tell me—­”

Virginia turned round and faced her sister.  First looking round the room to make sure no one was there, she said in a whisper: 

“Did Jimmie ever come home—­drunk?”

“I should like to see him try it,” exclaimed Fanny indignantly.  “Just once.  I imagine once would be enough.”

“Then you can’t understand it,” said Virginia quickly.

“Does—­Robert?” asked Fanny in a low tone.

Virginia nodded and turned her head away.

“Often?” demanded her sister.

Virginia shook her head despondently.  Stifling back the sobs that choked her utterance, she answered: 

“If it were often, I couldn’t bear it.  I should have left him long ago.  It’s bad enough as it is.”

Fanny kissed her.

“Poor girl!” she murmured.

Drying her tears, Virginia went on: 

“When he’s himself there isn’t a finer man in the world, but when he’s not—­”

“Tell me everything,” said Fanny, putting her arm sympathetically round her little sister’s waist.