interested me most. It was nothing short of devout. She was a convert.
She believed he really saw--I suppose," he turned to me, "there's no harm
in our recognizing now that they didn't always get on smoothly together?"

"Did they ever?" I asked.

"Oh, yes--oh, yes," said the psychologist, kindly. "They were very fond
of each other, and often very peaceful."

"I never happened to be by," I said.

"Used to fight like cats and dogs," said Minver. "And they didn't seem to
mind people. It was very swell, in a way, their indifference, and it did
help to take away a fellow's embarrassment."

"That seemed to come mostly to an end that summer," said Wanhope, "if you
could believe Mrs. Ormond."

"You probably couldn't," the painter put in.

"At any rate she seemed to worship his memory."

"Oh, yes; she hadn't him there to claw."

"Well, she was quite frank about it with me," the psychologist pursued.
"She admitted that they had always quarreled a good deal. She seemed to
think it was a token of their perfect unity. It was as if they were each
quarreling with themselves, she said. I'm not sure that there wasn't
something in the notion. There is no doubt but that they were
tremendously in love with each other, and there is something curious in