How different is life from what the fictioneers would paint it! How hopelessly mixed-up and macaronic, how undignified in what ought to be its big moments and how pompous in so many of its pettinesses!

I told my husband to-day that Poppsy and I were going back to Casa Grande. And that, surely, ought to have been the Big Moment in the career of an unloved invertebrate. But the situation declined to take off, as the airmen say.

“I guess that means it’s about time we got unscrambled,” the man I had once married and lived with quietly remarked.

“Wasn’t that your intention?” I just as quietly inquired.

“It’s what I’ve had forced on me,” he retorted, with a protective hardening of the Holbein-Astronomer jaw-line.

“I’m sorry,” was all I could find to say.

He turned to the window and stared out at his big 365 white iron fountain set in his terraced lawn behind his endless cobble-stone walls. I couldn’t tell, of course, what he was thinking about. But I myself was thinking of the past, the irrecoverable past, the irredeemable past, the singing years of my womanly youth that seemed to be sealed in a lowered coffin on which the sheltering earth would soon be heaped, on which the first clods were already dropping with hollow sounds. We each seemed afraid to look the other full in the eyes. So we armored ourselves, as poor mortals must do, in the helmets of pretended diffidence and the breast-plates of impersonality.

“How are you going back?” my husband finally inquired. Whatever ghosts it had been necessary to lay, I could see, he had by this time laid. He no longer needed to stare out at the white iron fountain of which he was so proud.

“I’ve sent for the prairie-schooner,” I told him.

His flush of anger rather startled me.

“Doesn’t that impress you as rather cheaply theatrical?” he demanded.

“I fancy it will be very comfortable,” I told him, without looking up. I’d apparently been attributing to him feelings which, after all, were not so desolating as I might have wished. 366

“Every one to his own taste,” he observed as he called rather sharply to Tokudo to bring him his humidor. Then he took out a cigar and lighted it and ordered the car. And that was the lee and the long of it. That was the way we faced our Great Divide, our forked trail that veered off East and West into infinity!