ower," I
said; "we _know_ it progresses. What are we expected to say?"

"I know," said Cecilia brightly. "_Why?_"

John pulled himself up.

"Because," he said, "they are proposing in the paper here to start a
system of temporary marriages which can be dissolved if either party
is dissatisfied after a fair trial. I only wish somebody had thought
of it--how many?--eight years ago."

Cecilia's jaw dropped. I chuckled.

"You certainly bought that one all right, Cecilia old dear," I said.
"Can't you manage a witty retort? Try, sister, for the honour of the
family."

Cecilia pulled herself together.

"Retort?" she said in surprise. "Why on earth a retort, my dear Alan?
When my husband makes his first really sensible remark for years I
don't retort, I applaud. If only I had known the sort of man he is
before I tied myself to him for life! What an actor he would have
made! Why, before we married----"

"'Nothing was too good for you,'" I encouraged. "Go on, Cecilia."

"Don't interrupt, Alan--nothing was too good for me. Afterwards----"

"Last year's blouses and a yearly trip to the Zoo. Shame!" I said.

"And what about me?" said John. "Haven't I been deceived? Didn't
you all conspire to make me think she was sweet and good? I remember
somebody telling me I was a lucky man. I realise now you were all only
too glad to get rid of her."

"Alan! How can you let him?" said Cecilia with a small scream of rage.

"Come, come," I said, "this family wrangling has gone far enough. You
_are_ married and you can't get out of it. Make the best of it, my
children, and be friends."

"Yes," said John sadly, "it is too late now. I must try to bear up;
but it is hard. If only this scheme had been started a few years
earlier. If only I could have taken her on approval."

He paused a moment and smiled softly.

"Imagine the scene," he resumed. "'Cecilia,' I should say, 'I have
given you every chance, but I am afraid you don't suit. For eight long
years I have suffered from your rotten cooking, your ... extravagance
... and so on ... _et caetera_ ... and I regret that I must give you
a month's notice, to take effect as from four o'clock this afternoon.
You have good qualities. You are honest and temperate and, to some
extent, not bad looking--in the evening, anyway. Your idea of keeping
household accounts is atrocious, but, on the other hand, you look
rather nice in a hammock on a hot summer day. But that is all I can
say for you.