nearby summer resorts. Sometimes on Sundays Monty hired a rig and they drove along the lake front.
Monty introduced her to many of his friends, including their wives and their near-wives. But Louella made no close friendships. She wanted to be free. She dreaded any sort of entanglements. Occasionally she even regretted her affair with Monty. It was taking on much too definite an air of permanence. Some day she would break off with him. She would live her own life. She was no longer Mary Blaine. But this new woman was not Louella Leota. Where was that endless parade of men? Had they vanished never to reappear?
Months rolled by and still Louella and Monty remained together. It was an easy life. She was not quite happy but she was also far from miserable. If only she had been able to really love Monty it would have been an ideal existence. This somehow was impossible. She admired him but that was as far as her affections went. As a lover he meant no more to her than any other of the men who had passed by.
Sometimes at night they remained at home, drinking whiskey and soda and playing pinochle. Louella had always been careful of her drinking. She only drank in moderation. Now however the bars were down. Frequently they were drunk when they retired. It was an easy habit to fall into and a bad one. At intervals she regretted it. She wanted to be free. No girl could be utterly free who permitted her faculties to be deadened with liquor. When she endeavored to quit, Monty laughed at her.
"What's wrong about drinking in your own home?" he wanted to know.
"There isn't anything wrong with murder if you are broadminded," she said.
"Of course there isn't," he agreed. "Murder is an excellent thing if it is used with discretion and directed toward the right people."
"Have you ever committed any murders?" she asked wickedly.
"Scarcely any," said he. "I'm afraid I'm a bit out of practice. But I always carry a gun in case the spirit moves me. How about yourself?"
70
