74 Ashes of Incense

this particular case, Mrs. Sargent, I seem to be
the only one wh0’s ready t0 employ it. \Ve are
—you and your husband and Paula and I——danc-
ing on a volcano, whose top is apt to fly 0H at
any moment.”

“A volcano?” The White childish brow wrin-
kled in bewilderment. ‘Tm afraid I don’t un-
derstand, Mr. Templeivaite.”

“Pm afraid you do,” said Guy grimly. “I
hope you don’t. I don’t know whether or not
you love your husband, Mrs. Sargent-—I have
neither the desire nor the impertinence to ask—
but I (he drew a deep breath) love my wife.
And—I-—mean—to—keep—her." His brown
face held all the iron pugnacity of man primi-
tive.

Dorofée shook her curls into her shining eyes
deprecatingly. “But of course you mean to keep
her. \Vhy not? Who is to steal her?” Simon,
by the bluet bed, ran his pink tongue along his
whiskers as though he smiled.

“Nobody,” said Guy Templewaite, through

' closed jaws. “That’s just what I mean, Mrs.

Sargent. I married Paula”-—his sharp face soft-
ened indescribably—“she was the sweetest, most
unaffected pretty girl I ever saw, when We were
married. She wore her hair parted then,” he