selfish that if the least difference in taste develops, or
if another man or woman chances along whom they momentarily fancy more
than their own husbands or wives, they get a divorce. Their idea of
marriage is not a mutual sacrifice which brings happiness through trials
borne together and through the making of character. No, they have a
notion that man and wife may continue to lead their individual lives.
That isn't marriage. I've lived with Joshua Holt thirty-five years last
April, and I haven't pleased myself in all that time."

"All men," said Trixton Brent, "are not so fortunate as Mr. Holt."

Honora began to have the sensations of a witness to a debate between
Mephistopheles and the powers of heaven. Her head swam. But Mrs. Holt,
who had unlooked-for flashes of humour, laughed, and shook her curls at
Brent.

"I should like to lecture you some time," she said; "I think it would do
you good."

He shook his head.

"I'm beyond redemption. Don't you think so, Honora?" he asked, with an
unexpected return of his audacity.

"I'm afraid I'm not worthy to judge you," she replied, and coloured.

"Stuff and nonsense," said Mrs. Holt; "women are superior to men, and
it's our duty to keep them in order. And if we're really going to risk
our lives in your automobile, Mr. Brent, you'd better make sure it's
there," she added, glancing at her watch.

Having dined together in an apparent and inexplicable amity, their exit
was of even more interest to the table in the corner than their entrance
had been. Mrs. Holt's elderly maid was waiting in the hall, Mrs. Holt's
little trunk was strapped on the rear of the car; and the lady herself,
with something of the feelings of a missionary embarking for the wilds
of Africa, was assisted up the little step and through the narrow
entrance of the tonneau by the combined efforts of Honora and Brent.
An expression of resolution, emblematic of a determination to die, if
necessary, in the performance of duty, was on her face as the machinery
started; and her breath was not quite normal when, in an incredibly
brief period, they descended at the ferry.

The journey to Quicksands was accomplished in a good fellowship which
Honora, an hour before, would not have dreamed of. Even Mrs. Holt was
not wholly proof against the charms of Trixton Brent when he chose to
exert himself; and for some reason he did so choose. As they stood in
the starlight on the platform of the deserted little station whi