that one of those queerly-named dishes was better than the other—he looked interested. How amiable!
She smiled joyously at Basil. "And now tell me what you've been doing with your unchartered freedom—confess how you've enjoyed being a bachelor!"
"You can't be a bachelor when you've been married," said Basil with conviction. "It's living at table d'hôtes when you've had your own house—it ain't the cheese. I hate bumming round."
And he looked at her with deep content in his eyes.
"We'll get a little place in the country somewhere for the autumn, and I shall sit down and do some work. I haven't done anything decent since you went away."
"What have you done, then, you fraud?"
"Oh, I wrote you—those beastly illustrations—and another thing or two. But it's been hot, and every day or so I had to pick up and go out of town. I couldn't settle down to anything. I want my own place—and you in it."
"But, dear boy, you don't like my housekeeping!"
"Bother housekeeping! You do it as well as you can, that's all. I don't care much what I eat."
"Poor, dear Basil! But I will do it better this
