to be amused, I know. Perhaps we expect too much from them.

'Oh, woman in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade
By the light quivering aspen made.'

I've sometimes had reason to recall those lines." Mr. Larcher sighed at
certain memories of Miss Hill's variableness. "But then, you know,--

'When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel them.'"

"I can't speak in regard to pain and anguish," said Davenport. "I've
experienced both, of course, but not so as to learn their effect on
women. But suppose, if you can, a woman who should look kindly on an
undeserving, but not ill-meaning, individual like myself. Suppose that,
after a time, she happened to hear of the reputation of bad luck that
clung to him. What would she do then?"

"Undertake to be his mascot, I suppose, and neutralize the evil
influence," replied Larcher, laughingly.

"Well, if I were to predict on my own experience, I should say she would
take flight as fast as she could, to avoid falling under the evil
influence herself. The man would never hear of her again, and she would
doubtless live happy ever after."

For the first time in the conversation, Davenport sighed, and the
faintest cloud of bitterness showed for a moment on his face.