e word he used to describe
what he was now enjoying as Marjory sat by the window reading to him.
It had nothing to do with being read aloud to. He could at any time
have summoned a valet to do that, and in five minutes would have felt
like throwing the book--any book--at the valet's head. It had nothing
to do with the mere fact that she was a woman. Nurse Duval could not
have taken her place. Kind as she had been, he was heartily bored with
her before she left.

It would seem, then, that in some mysterious way he derived his
pleasure from Marjory herself. But, if so, then she had gone farther
than all those who made it their life-work to see that man was
comfortable; for they satisfied only existing wants, while she created
a new one. Whenever she left the room he was conscious of this want.

Yet, when Monte faced the issue squarely and asked himself if this were
not a symptom of being in love, he answered it as fairly as he could
out of an experience that covered Chic Warren's pre-nuptial
brain-storms; a close observation of several dozen honeymoon couples on
shipboard, to say nothing of many incipient cases which started there;
and, finally, the case of Teddy Hamilton.

The leading feature of all those distressing examples seemed to
indicate that, while theoretically the man was in an ideal state of
blissful ecstasy, he was, practically, in a condition bordering on
madness. At the very moment he was supposed to be happy, he was about
half the time most miserable. Even at its best, it did not make for
comfort. Poor Chic ran the gamut every week from hell to heaven. It
was with a sigh of relief that Monte was able to answer his own
question conscientiously in the negative. It was just because he was
able to retain the use of his faculties that he was able to enjoy the
situation.

Monte liked to consider himself thoroughly normal in everything. As
far as he had any theory of life, it was based upon the wisdom of
keeping cool--of keeping normal. To get the utmost out of every day,
this was necessary. It was not the man who drank too much who enjoyed
his wine: it was the man who drank little. That was true of
everything. If Hamilton had only kept his head--well, after all, Monte
was indebted to Hamilton for not having kept his head.

Monte was not in love: that was certain. Marjory was not in love: that
also was certain. This was why he was able to light his cigarette,
lean back his head on the pill