y wedded life was unhappy. The late
baronet was absolutely ignorant of Schopenhauer, and even cursed him
to my face for a madman, just because he happened to be my favourite
philosopher. Since I've dipped into Hegel, I've come largely to agree
with my husband's denunciation, though not on the same grounds. Not
that I profess to know anything either about Hegel or Schopenhauer.
Edward always thought me a blue-stocking--me, who have only a woman's
tea-table smattering of philosophy! Why, it takes all the fun out of
life to be a blue-stocking! Edward hadn't any brains. I married him
without love, and in face of his attitude towards Schopenhauer, you
may guess what chance it had of springing up. During the brilliant
years of my widow-hood--eight in number--my heart has remained
positively untouched by anybody but you. It's your childlike
helplessness that fascinates me."

"You flatter me."

"There are other things, of course. You've splendid large eyes and
nice, soft, silky hair, and such a pretty curl to your lip. And you've
such a charming, innocent look. If only you'd promise not to write any
more poems about sweet little girls, you'd be perfect."

Whether it was that her proximity at this moment of inner perturbation
and suffering roused in him an overmastering desire for her sympathy,
or whether her last remark exercised an insidious drawing power, he
did not quite know, but he found himself saying immediately:

"I can make that promise very easily. I made a bonfire last night."

She understood at once.

"Which explains much for which I've been reproaching you!" she
exclaimed sympathetically. "You have been suffering, dear Morgan."

Her voice had grown soft and coaxing. His determination to shun
everybody could not stand against this real concern for him. In a few
words he told her of his despair and of the dubiousness of his
position. But he could not bring himself to speak of his hopeless
love, or to raise the veil that concealed his other friendships from
her. His comradeship with her had always stood for him as a thing
apart; and this attitude of his towards it had made it the more
charming. It had been quite natural for him to take it entirely by
itself and as unrelated to the rest of his external life.

"But, my dear Morgan," she protested, "this can't go on. How do you
intend to live?"

He was glad she did not have recourse to that crude, obvious
suggestion of his begging a replenishment from the pate