three weeks in her pre-marital days. But she had covenanted herself to
Jack Hemingway, who had prior claims, and her heart as well; and Ned
Bashford had philosophically not broken his heart over it. He merely added
the experience to a large fund of similarly collected data out of which he
manufactured philosophy. Artistically and temperamentally he was a Greek--
a tired Greek. He was fond of quoting from Nietzsche, in token that he,
too, had passed through the long sickness that follows upon the ardent
search for truth; that he too had emerged, too experienced, too shrewd, too
profound, ever again to be afflicted by the madness of youths in their love
of truth. "'To worship appearance,'" he often quoted; "'to believe in
forms, in tones, in words, in the whole Olympus of appearance!'" This
particular excerpt he always concluded with, "'Those Greeks were
superficial--OUT OF PROFUNDITY!'"

He was a fairly young Greek, jaded and worn. Women were faithless and
unveracious, he held--at such times that he had relapses and descended to
pessimism from his wonted high philosophical calm. He did not believe in
the truth of women; but, faithful to his German master, he did not strip
from them the airy gauzes that veiled their untruth. He was content to
accept them as appearances and to make the best of it. He was superficial-
-OUT OF PROFUNDITY.

"Jack says to be sure to say to you, 'good swimming,'" Mrs. Hemingway wrote
in her letter; "and also 'to bring your fishing duds along.'" Mrs.
Hemingway wrote other things in the letter. She told him that at last she
was prepared to exhibit to him an absolutely true, unsullied, and innocent
woman. "A more guileless, immaculate bud of womanhood never blushed on the
planet," was one of the several ways in which she phrased the inducement.
And to her husband she said triumphantly, "If I don't marry Ned off this
time--" leaving unstated the terrible alternative that she lacked either