it robbed the whole idea of any attraction, and he grimly continued getting ready while Ursala, sensing from his silence that she had found another chink in his less than adequate armor, continued her attack.

Now, because this was only once-a-year, Robert indulged himself as much as he could. He sought the help of a professional costumer and let nothing stand in the way of perfection. In years past, he had appeared as Marie Antoinette (a smash), Cleopatra (rather startling, considering the brevity of the costume), Salome (something of a repeat, based on the success of 'Cleo'), and last year, as 'Lillian Russell' that he considered his finest effort to date. Of course, what Robert kept a close secret from his mate was that he did not return his costumes each year ah, no! They were kept in a secret hidey-hole, and once in a while well, you have to understand that his successes depended on a proficiency that could only be achieved through practice — you know. This year's gypsy costume now there was a real outfit. He had con- ceived of it nearly a full year earlier and had been accumulating the pieces to the ensemble. A corset was called for in his schedule and after a great deal of searching, he settled on one similar to the one he had used for 'Lillian' possible it didn't dawn on him to use the same one

but then, there's a perfectionist for you. The outer costume was of excitingly vivid shades of balloon-sleeved blouse, satin bodice and full, full skirt with the cutest little boots of red and gold with tiny bells. He had acquired a long, black-haired wig and had it styled to billow over his shoulders. He had consulted several stage manuals for gypsy-makeup. And now, while Ursala shrilled in the background, he began his long task of getting ready.

- -

Perhaps if he had paid more attention to his wife, he might have avoided all the trouble that followed. Dimly listening, he heard her once exclaim, "You don't even care what I wear, do you?" No, Ursala, he said, but very silently so she wouldn't hear I really don't give a damn what you wear. But he didn't reckon on her nature. Her naturally suspicious mind had been dwelling on his costume for some weeks ever since the invitation had come. And so, she began to watch him. Her woman's mind knew that his elaborate costuming could not be, as he had often explained, the result of a fifteen minute visit to a costume shop. And so she watched him. And discovered his secret hidey- hole. And now, a scarce fifteen minutes before they were to leave for the party, she triumphantly dragged out his treasures and gloated at him. Taunted him. Had he not been committed to the carefree, lissome gypsy he personated, he might have reacted as she wished. He merely shrugged. Tonight-there was a full moon and he had music in his

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