ve Towns; and she
had often said things about men and marriage of which the recollection
now, as an affianced woman, was very disturbing to her. However, she did
not care. She did not understand how Simon Loggerheads had had the wit
to perceive that she would be an ideal wife. And she did not care. She
did not understand how, as a result of Simon Loggerheads falling in love
with her, she had fallen in love with him. And she did not care. She did
not care a fig for anything. She _was_ in love with him, and he with
her, and she was idiotically joyous, and so was he. And that was all.

On reflection, I have to admit that she did in fact care for one thing.
That one thing was the look on her brother's face when he should learn
that she, the faithful sardonic sister, having incomprehensibly become
indispensable and all in all to a bank cashier, meant to desert him. She
was afraid of that look. She trembled at the fore-vision of it.

Still, Richard had to be informed, and the world had to be informed, for
the silken dalliance between Mary and Simon had been conducted with a
discretion and a secrecy more than characteristic of their age and
dispositions. It had been arranged between the lovers that Simon should
call on that Friday evening, when he would be sure to catch Richard in
his easy chair, and should, in presence of Mary, bluntly communicate to
Richard the blunt fact.

"What's he gone out for? Anything special?" asked Simon.

Mary explained the circumstances.

"The truth is," she finished, "that girl is just throwing herself at
Dick's head. There's no doubt of it. I never saw such work!"

"Well," said Simon Loggerheads, "of course, you know, there's been a
certain amount of talk about them. Some folks say that your
brother--er--began--"

"And do you believe that?" demanded Mary.

"I don't know," said Simon. By which he meant diplomatically to convey
that he had had a narrow escape of believing it, at any rate.

"Well," said Mary, with conviction, "you may take it from me that it
isn't so. I know Dick. Eva Harracles may throw herself at his head till
there's no breath left in her body, and it'll make no difference to
Dick. Do _you_ see Dick a married man? I don't. I only wish he _would_
take it into his head to get married. It would make me much easier in my
mind. But all the same I do think it's downright wicked that a girl
should fling herself _at_ him, right _at_ him. Fancy her calling
to-night! It's the sor