ather stood behind her. She
would enter into no arrangement that might eventually lead to divorce.
She had insulted her husband before guests and servants, had scratched
his face, thrown hand-mirrors and hairbrushes and nail-scissors at him
often enough, but she knew that Fred was hardly the fellow who would go
into court and offer that sort of evidence. In her behavior with other
men she was discreet.

After Fred went to Chicago, his mother visited him often, and dropped a
word to her old friends there, who were already kindly disposed toward
the young man. They gossiped as little as was compatible with the
interest they felt, undertook to make life agreeable for Fred, and told
his story only where they felt it would do good: to girls who seemed to
find the young brewer attractive. So far, he had behaved well, and had
kept out of entanglements.

Since he was transferred to Chicago, Fred had been abroad several times,
and had fallen more and more into the way of going about among young
artists,--people with whom personal relations were incidental. With
women, and even girls, who had careers to follow, a young man might have
pleasant friendships without being regarded as a prospective suitor or
lover. Among artists his position was not irregular, because with them
his marriageableness was not an issue. His tastes, his enthusiasm, and
his agreeable personality made him welcome.

With Thea Kronborg he had allowed himself more liberty than he usually
did in his friendships or gallantries with young artists, because she
seemed to him distinctly not the marrying kind. She impressed him as
equipped to be an artist, and to be nothing else; already directed,
concentrated, formed as to mental habit. He was generous and
sympathetic, and she was lonely and needed friendship; needed
cheerfulness. She had not much power of reaching out toward useful
people or useful experiences, did not see opportunities. She had no tact
about going after good positions or enlisting the interest of
influential persons. She antagonized people rather than conciliated
them. He discovered at once that she had a merry side, a robust humor
that was deep and hearty, like her laugh, but it slept most of the time
under her own doubts and the dullness of her life. She had not what is
called a "sense of humor." That is, she had no intellectual humor; no
power to enjoy the absurdities of people, no relish of their
pretentiousness and inconsistencies--which on