his pockets for warmth, and contracted his shoulders as if in dogged
patience. Yet, in spite of the fact that he was tired, cold, and anxious
to see his wife, he was conscious of a secret satisfaction in submitting
to the caprices of this old friend of his boyhood. After all, Dick
Demorest knew what he was about, and had never led him astray by his
autocratic will. It was safe to let Dick have his way. It was true it
was generally Dick's own way--but he made others think it was theirs
too--or would have been theirs had they had the will and the knowledge
to project it. He looked up comfortably at the handsome, resolute
profile of the man who had taken selfish possession of him. Many women
had done the same.

"Suppose if you were to tell your wife I was going to reform," said
Demorest, "it might be different, eh? She'd want to take me into the
church--'another sinner saved,' and all that, eh?"

"No," said Blandford, earnestly. "Joan isn't as rigid as all that, Dick.
What she's got against you is the common report of your free way of
living, and that--come now, you know yourself, Dick, that isn't exactly
the thing a woman brought up in her style can stand. Why, she thinks
I'm unregenerate, and--well, a man can't carry on business always like a
class meeting. But are you thinking of reforming?" he continued, trying
to get a glimpse of his companion's eyes.

"Perhaps. It depends. Now--there's a woman I know--"

"What, another? and you call this going to reform?" interrupted
Blandford, yet not without a certain curiosity in his manner.

"Yes; that's just why I think of reforming. For this one isn't exactly