knew him.

"What is it?" cried I, advancing with outstretched hand.

"I am going to be married," was his gay reply. "This is my last night at
the club."

I was glad, and showed it. Taylor is a man for whom domestic life is a
necessity. He has never been at home with us, though we all liked him
and he, in his way, liked us.

"And who is the fortunate lady?" I inquired; for I had been out of town
for some time and had not as yet been made acquainted with the latest
society news.

"My intended bride is Mrs. Walworth, the young widow----"

He must have seen a change take place in my expression, for he stopped.

"You know her, of course," he added, after a short study of my face.

I had by this time regained my self-possession.

"Of course," I repeated, "and I have always thought her one of the most
attractive women in town. Another shake upon it, old man?"

But my heart was heavy and my mind perplexed, notwithstanding the forced
cordiality of my tones, and I took an early opportunity to withdraw by
myself and think over the situation.

Mrs. Walworth! She was a pretty woman, and what was more, she was, to
all appearance, a woman whose winning manners bespoke a kindly heart.
"Just the person," I contemplated, "whom I would pick out for the
helpmate of my somewhat exacting friend, if----" I paused on that if. It
was a formidable one, and grew none the smaller or less important under
my broodings. Indeed, it seemed to dilate until it assumed gigantic
proportions, worrying me and weighing so heavily upon my conscience that
I at last rose from the newspaper at which I had been hopelessly
staring, and looking up Taylor again, asked him how soon he expected to
become a Benedict.

His answer startled me. "In a week," he replied, "and if I have not
asked you to the ceremony, it is because Helen is not in a position
to----"

I supposed he finished the sentence, but I did not hear him. If the
marriage was so near, of course it would be folly on my part to attempt
to hinder it. I drew off for the second time.

But I could not remain easy. Taylor is a good fellow, and it would be a
shame to allow him to marry a woman with whom he could never be happy.
He would feel any such disappointment so keenly, so much more keenly
than most men. A lack of principle or even of sensibility on her part,
would make him miserable. Anticipating heaven, it would not take a hell
to make him wretched, a purgatory would do it. Was I right, t