to Lady Isobel's apartment prepared to state his case firmly. The door was locked. At his savage knock it opened slightly and Lady Isobel's giggling maid informed him that My Lady was engaged with her modiste and begged to be excused. The maid, still giggling, closed the door firmly in Sir Jon's angry face.

Giggling! That damn maid had dared to laugh at him! No doubt Lady Isobel was giggling the modiste was giggling! Furious, Sir Jon sought Clotilde, who comforted him and suggested he use a hair tonic and refrain from certain rich foods of which he was overly fond.

"You're not exactly what I'd call the latest sport model, old dear," said Clotilde, with the charming frankness for which the younger generation was noted. "Not with that tummy."

Clotilde laughed when Sir Jon colored angrily. "You sure do shake a wicked spare," she told him.

Justly incensed, Sir Jon remembered that when he last saw Marthe she had been weeping. Desirous of comforting her he knocked confidently at her door. A solemn servant informed him that Mistress Marthe was reading aloud to her sick son and could not be disturbed. With a great oath Sir Jon went out to the kennels, where he kicked at his hounds and went hunting.

When Lady Isobel resumed her attendance at table, it was without outward sign of inner turmoil. She was gay and handsomer than ever. Her modiste had labored and brought forth several becoming gowns which Lady Isobel wore with a grace that Clotilde secretly envied. But what attracted Sir Jon's attention was the

curly black tress arranged low on her smooth forehead, where it gleamed like a strand of burnished midnight against the silver halo of her hair.

Lady Isobel's skirts were as short as Clotilde's-far too short the neighbors said, for a woman of her age. Lady Isobel's slim ankles tripped lightly over the worn stone flagging and her ready laughter was sweet. She treated Clotilde much as she would have treated any cat, which was not at all unkindly, being fond of cats, but suggestive of an acute awareness of claws.

But Marthe always sniffed unpleasantly whenever she saw Clotilde. As the months passed Lady Isobel continued to practise an irritating elusiveness. She brought the soft warm cushions from her boudoir down to the gloomy hall and sat there evenings, with Marthe for company. The youngest son had gone to fulfil his destiny in the army and Marthe was lonely. The two women seemed to find a peculiar quality of comfort in each other's society.

Sir Jon could sit with them if he liked, but they never seemed to care if he went out with Clotilde on her nightly terpsichorean rounds. To Clotilde an evening without dancing was incomprehensible.

Perhaps because his diet disagreed with him; perhaps because so much dancing made his legs stiff; perhaps the calm delights of fireside comfort had a new appeal for him. Whatever the cause, Sir Jon sat with them more frequently of evenings and Clotilde went out with young Arthur, the son of an impoverished country Baron who lived hard by.

Lady Isobel always greeted young Arthur with a smile, but Marthe

always sniffed unpleasantly whenever he came to the castle.

And for a man with three affectionate wives, Sir Jon's home was strangely lacking in wifely comfort.

20

During the years when the Kingdom of Loveana grew prosperous, King Borel grew old. The attractive morganatic ladies had long since been pensioned off. There was a wonderful young army-with little to do. So rapidly had the old order passed that it was no longer ethical for a country to annex contiguous provinces rich in coal.

A wonderful young army, but rebellious.

Yes, rebellious against the King's mandate enforcing polygamy.

"One wife at a time is enough," said the first young recruit. "More than enough, likely as not."

"If a guy wants to sport 'round a bit, all right," said the second young recruit. "But to be told you've got to have a lot of skirts bossing youthat's a cat of another color."

"Silk stockings! Silk what-youmay-call-'ems!" said the first young recruit. "I'd like to know where in blazes the King thinks the money's coming from!"

Now of course this rebellion in the army did not signify any radical change in masculine nature. Several things a man may consider necessary to his private enjoyment become distasteful when made mandatory. But it did signify an economic transition that had shaken Loveana to its foundations. Democratic tendencies, originating in a powerful republic across the seas, had been imported thence along with improved machinery and silk lingerie.

The peasantry of Loveana broke out in an epidemic of near-silk hose. Many a lady's-maid had a trousseau finer than Lady Isobel's had been twenty odd years before. Wives old enough to know better, their husbands said, demanded silk what-youmay-call-'ems and got them. Which was as it should be, but it operated as a deterrent to compliance with the King's mandate.

The murmuring in the wonderful young army reached the ears of King Borel. The King had come to fear his army that had so little to do and was potentially capable of doing too much. He summoned his Generals, who of course recommended severe measures for the conscripted men. King Borel took their recommendation under advisement, dismissed them, and went to consult Queen Fleur.

"Abolish polygamy," said the Queen.

"An excellent idea, my dear," said the King, and departed to issue the royal decree.

Not until too late did Queen Fleur regret her failure to discuss the details with the King. For King Borel, in making monogamy again the law of the land, wisely stipulated that each husband should retain one wife, in the choice of which he was quite free. And again kindness prevailed, for King Borel ordered that suitable pensions be paid to the old wives who would thus find themselves put aside.

Being now old herself, the Queen was greatly incensed. But for many days there was a twinkle in the King's dim eyes, for it had been many years since he had worsted the Queen so easily.

before her. And in his face was a great distaste for the thing he had to do.

"Marthe," said Sir Jon, "have I ever spoken to you of love?"

"No, Sir Jon, you never have,” said Marthe, startled.

"When you came here we had a certain understanding. I did not offer you love. I could not. But I offered you my name, my home and kindly treatment all your life. In return, you were, if possible, to give me sons for the army."

There was an edge to Sir Jon's voice at the mention of the army. Had he not purchased for Loveana the coal at a price far below the cost of sending the army to seize it?

"I gave you sons," said Marthe. "Four as fine sons as a man could wish."

"True. They are fine sons. But the King has made it necessary for me to break my promise to you-in part. I can no longer offer you my home, but I have made ample provision for your comfort elsewhere."

"You can't mean that!" cried Marthe sharply. "I'm the only one of your wives who has done her duty by you. I gave you children. Be just, Sir Jon."

"I am trying to be just, Marthe. Please remember we are confronted with a condition, not a theory. True, you gave me sons. You still have your sons, remember."

Marthe did not reply. Sir Jon went on: "Some women are born to be mothers. They are wives only incidentally. You are that kind, Marthe. Your sons have been your life. They will always be your life. And they love you.”

Sir Jon smiled whimsically. “Think of all the fine grandchildren you are going to have, Marthe."

"That's all all very well," said Marthe. "Of course my sons love me. I suffered for them. I-I lost my figure." Marthe still clung to the illusion she had once possessed one. "It isn't fair!"

"Life is seldom fair, Marthe. Please believe that I am trying to be as just as circumstances permit me to be."

Marthe rose sullenly. "Well, don't blame me if she dances and diets you to death in a year, that's all!"

"Oh!" said Sir Jon, surprised. Then he smiled. "In that event you will still have your four sons, Marthe."

Returning to her rooms, Marthe was careful to go a roundabout way, fearing that Clotilde would be watching to pounce upon her in triumph.

Presently the majordomo knocked at Mistress Clotilde's door and bade her attend Sir Jon in the great flagged hall. And when Clotilde would have thrown her arms about his neck, Sir Jon gently put them away, and in his face was a great distaste for the thing he had to do.

"Clotilde," said Sir Jon, kindly, "I want to ask you to forgive me." "What for, old dear?" asked Clotilde, surprised.

"For marrying you.'

"Oh!" more surprised still.

"At the time I thought-I didlove you, Clotilde. A man may believe himself to be sincere, and yet be mistaken. I did not mean to wrong you-your youth-as I know now I will be wronging you if I ask you to stay on with me. For I no longer love you."

"Don't bother your bald head about that," said Clotilde. "I'm not very strong for this love stuff, anyway."

"I'm sorry to hear you say that," Sir Jon told her. "Young Arthur joined me on my ride home. He gave me to understand you returned his love."

Now indeed was Clotilde surprised. She looked at Sir Jon with wide troubled eyes. How much did he know? In her plans for the future it had seemed an excellent arrangement to keep Sir Jon as her husband, his castle her home and young Arthur her lover.

"He's dirt poor," muttered Clotilde.

"True," commented Sir Jon. "But think how divinely he dances."

Clotilde tossed her golden head. "You think you're cute. I'd like to know what we would live on?"

"I'm glad to hear you ask that, Clotilde. It shows you really have a serious side to your nature. No doubt you will make Arthur an excellent wife. I shall make provision for you, of course-enough to set Arthur up in business for himself. You should be able to manage admirably."

"Come again," said Clotilde. "A three-room flat and a patent dishwasher."

"Don't be mercenary, my dear. Arthur believes you love him."

"Love! Let me tell you something. Either a woman is mercenary or she is a fool. So long as a wife laps up this all-for-love stuff she's just a tabby, and the first blue-eyed kitten that comes along gets her

won't cry over men. We are learning you aren't worth it."

"No doubt you are right," said Sir Jon wearily. "Perhaps sometime you may learn that love has little to do with worth.”

"Anyway, you get the worst of it," Clotilde told him. "Duty! Think of having to live with that piece of cheese the rest of your life. As for me," announced Mistress Clotilde as she departed, "I'll jolly well look after myself."

Returning to her rooms, Clotilde was careful to go a roundabout way, fearing that Marthe would be watching to pounce upon her in triumph.

Sir Jon sat long before the cold fireplace. He was weary and inexplicably sad.

One short year ago he had felt amply justified in taking Clotilde into his life. He had desired her. He had the sanction of the law. Strange he should have then failed to realize that the selfish desires of men have often solidified into laws.