the quotation! And when was that time, pray? Are you referring
to the Garden of Eden, or to what part of the Bible? The chosen people,
the Hebrews, were polygamists from the time of Lamech, evidently with
the approval of the Deity. Even the immaculate David had thirteen wives,
and the saintly Solomon a clear thousand. Not much of a holy mystery in
those days, eh?'

'Dear Bluestocking, you really _are_--' murmured the Gentle Lady.

'Not at all; she's perfectly sound,' interposed the Weary Roue, gloating
with ghoulish joy over the Good Stockbroker's apparent discomfort.

'I give in,' said the latter, and a yell of joy burst from the Ass and
the Weary Roue. 'I really cannot argue against a lady of such
overwhelming eloquence,' he continued, bowing in his delightful courtly
way. 'All the same, I shall always believe that marriage is a holy
institution.'

'My dear old chap,' said the Weary Roue, hastily, with one eye on the
Family Egotist, who was certainly being treated badly that evening:
'your high-mindedness is admirable, quite admirable, but it won't work;
it doesn't fit into modern conditions. Theoretically, Marriage is a Holy
Mystery no doubt--in practice it's apt to be an Unholy Muddle, sometimes
a Mess. Personally I believe in polygamy.'

Roars of laughter were stifled in their birth, as we thought of the
Weary Roue's circumspect spouse, and his several circumspect children,
discreet from birth upwards.

'So do I--a shilling each way,' said the Ass, inevitably.

'Not for myself, of course,' continued the Weary Roue, without a trace
of a smile, 'that is to say, not--er--not now, but speaking for the
majority and--er, in the abstract, polygamy would be a sensible
institution. Just think how it would simplify all our modern
complications, how it would mend our two worst social evils.'

'Yes, _think_, please--thinking will do,' interposed the Gentle Lady,
hastily.

'How it would solve the superfluous woman question,' continued the Weary
Roue, enthusiastically. 'Think of the enormous number of miserable
spinsters who would be happily provided for.' An indignant quack came
from the Bluestocking.

'Think of the expense,' remarked the Good Stockbroker, dryly, and the
Weary Roue collapsed like a pricked gas-bag.

'Herbert Spencer says,' continued the Good Stockbroker, 'that the
tendency to monogamy is innate, and all the other forms of marriage have
been temporary deviations, each bringing their own retributive