"You do not know," replied she, smiling. "However, I am glad you are to
be married. It will do you good. You need a wife, if you do dread
matrimony so much."

"It is abominable," he observed deliberately, "to talk as I do. Of
course I do not mind what you choose to think of me; or rather I am
sure you will not misunderstand."

"I do not," Mrs. Greyson interpolated significantly.

"But it seems a reflection upon Miss Caldwell," he continued,
answering her interruption only by a grimace, "for me to discourse of
marriage just as I do. It isn't because I'm not fond of her. It is my
protest against the absurd and false way in which society regards
marriage; in a word against marriage itself."

Mrs. Greyson understood Arthur Fenton as well as any woman can
understand a man who is her friend. Her friendship softened the
harshness of her judgments, but she could not be blind to his vanity,
his constant efforts at self-deception, and so far as she was in
possession of the facts, she reasoned correctly in regard to his
approaching marriage.

"No," she said calmly, "it isn't even that. You talk partly for the
sake of saying things that sound effective, and partly because you are
morbid from over introspection. If you were vicious, I should say you
did it as an atonement. Many people would not understand you, but as
I do, it is harmless for you to talk to me."

"Introspective? Of course. Can any body help being that in this age?