e from London, nearly two years
before, so that we had much to tell each other. For the third time now
had the O'Kelly proved his utter unworthiness to be the husband of the
lady to whom he still referred as his "dear good wife."

"But, under the circumstances, would it not be better," I suggested,
"for her to obtain a divorce? Then you and the Signora could marry and
there would be an end to the whole trouble."

"From a strictly worldly point of view," replied the O'Kelly, "it
certainly would be; but Mrs. O'Kelly"--his voice took to itself
unconsciously a tone of reverence--"is not an ordinary woman. You can
have no conception, my dear Kelver, of her goodness. I had a letter from
her only two months ago, a few weeks after the--the last occurrence. Not
one word of reproach, only that if I trespassed against her even unto
seven times seven she would still consider it her duty to forgive me;
that the 'home' would always be there for me to return to and repent."

A tear stood in the O'Kelly's eye. "A beautiful nature," he commented.
"There are not many women like her."

"Not one in a million!" added the Signora, with enthusiasm.

"Well, to me it seems like pure obstinacy," I said.

The O'Kelly spoke quite angrily. "Don't ye say a word against her! I
won't listen to it. Ye don't understand her. She never will despair of
reforming me."

"You see, Mr. Kelver," explained the Signora, "the whole difficulty
arises from my unfortunate profession. It is impossible for me to keep
out of dear Willie's way. If I could earn my living by any other means,
I would; but I can't. And when he sees my name upon the posters, it's
all over with him."

"I do wish, Willie, dear," added the Signora in tones of gentle reproof,
"that you were not quite so weak."

"Me dear," replied the O'Kelly, "ye don't know how attractive ye are or
ye wouldn't blame me."

I laughed. "Why don't you be firm," I suggested to the Signora, "send
him packing about his business?"

"I ought to," admitted the Signora. "I always mean to, until I see him.
Then I don't seem able to say anything--not anything I ought to."

"Ye do say it," contradicted the O'Kelly. "Ye're an angel, only I won't
listen to ye."

"I don't say it as if I meant it," persisted the Signora. "It's evident
I don't."

"I still think it a pity," I said, "someone does not explain to Mrs.
O'Kelly that a divorce would be the truer kindness."

"It is difficult to decide," argued the Signor