fairly settled upon her, and his caressing look and touch made her cheerful again. It was a point of pride with her that he should not feel her a burden, now that she was not going out. She liked him to go, and to come back and entertain her with accounts of his doings; and Basil readily adopted her own theory, that she was never bored with her own society. Now, as he dressed for dinner, she lay on his bed and talked to him; dictated what waistcoat he should wear, and tied his white tie. She told him of Alice's visit.
"Alice is an idiot," he said warmly. "She ought to have a baby herself. It's what she needs, only she doesn't know it, and I've told her so."
"You have a panacea for all feminine ills, haven't you?" said Teresa, with quiet sarcasm. "Marriage for those who aren't married, and babies for those who haven't babies"
"That's right—that's what they all want, if they haven't got 'em."
"Then women are divided into two classes—those who have worries, and those who want them."
"Yes, and the last state is worse than the first."
"I wonder," said Teresa, stretching her arms wearily. "For me—I've always had more than I wanted."
