an insider of him. Everybody likes him, and admires him. I never
thought much of him at school, but I think he's a peach now. And he
understands everything you say to him."

"He understands a good deal more than we'll ever be able to say to him.
_He's_ got brains. Evelyn Gray is staying with them."

"I know she is. I dined there last night. She's looking very pretty."

"She _is_ pretty," said Harry, "and she's got pretty hands and feet;
most pretty women haven't. It's usually the woman with a face that
would stop a clock that has pretty feet."

"Like Mrs. Deering," I suggested.

"Exactly," he said. "But Deering is no fool."

"How do you mean he isn't a fool?"

"Why," said Harry, "he makes her sleep with her feet on the pillow."

This struck me as very funny, and I laughed until I had forgotten what
I was laughing at. Harry got laughing, too, after a while. He put his
whole soul in it. Then we ordered two bottles of ale and had some fat
wood put on the fire, and watched it roar and sputter with flame as
only fat wood can. After much meditation and a swallow of the
fresh-brought ale, my mind began to harp on Evelyn Gray, and to magnify
her good looks and attractions. So I said:

"Harry, why don't _you_ marry Evelyn?"

For a moment he scowled at the fire. Then he spoke in a bitter voice.

"Suppose _I_ wanted to, and _she_ wanted to," he said, "still we
couldn't."

"Why not?" I asked innocently, expecting, I think, that his phrase was
some sort of a conundrum.

"Why, Archie, my boy," he said, and his scowl faded to a look of
weariness and disgust, "it looks as if I might have to marry somebody
else."

"Not----?"

He nodded. And presently he said, "It will be best for her--of course."

"But I haven't heard even a rumor. Has he started anything?"

"No. He's a decentish little chap. He's trying to make up his mind
whether to divorce her or be divorced himself. It hinges on the
children. If he divorces her he'll get them, and if he lets himself be
divorced, she will."

"It's big trouble, Harry!"

"Yes. For we are sick and tired of each other. I'd rather like to
blow my head off."

"But if she divorces him, you needn't marry her."

He rose slowly to his full height and held out his hand. "I'm going to
turn in," he said. "Good night."

"Good night, Harry. I'm sorry for you, you know that."

"I only have my deserts," he said. "Sensible men, like you, steer
clear of family com