hey had gone, and the door had closed upon the last of the bride's
backward looks at our two men, the Skeptic dropped into a chair.

"Hepatica, will you kindly mix a few drops of soothing syrup for me?"
he requested.

But the Philosopher fell to marching up and down, his hands in his
pockets, and a deeper gloom on his brow than we had ever seen there.
Although a decade the Philosopher's elder, the Professor had long
shared bachelor quarters with him in past days; it had been only
within a year or two that the necessities of their occupations had
caused them to separate.

"Why did I ever let him go off by himself?" the Philosopher muttered
remorsefully. "Why didn't I keep an eye on him?"

"It would have made no difference," the Skeptic offered dismally as
consolation. "'Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad!' You
couldn't have prevented his madness."

"I could have seen to it that such deadly instruments as marriage
licences and irresponsible clergymen were kept out of his way," groaned
the Philosopher.

"Come, cheer up!" cried Hepatica, making haste to light the spirit-lamp
under her tea-kettle. "I'm going to brew you all a cup of comfort with
lemons and sugar and things."

"Look at her!" commanded the Skeptic, rallying, "and tell me if marriage
is a failure."

The Philosopher paused. "You know well enough what I think of your
marriage," he owned.

II

CAMELLIA AND THE JUDGE

I am ashamed that women are so simple
To offer war when they should kneel for peace.
--_Taming of the Shrew._

"We are invited to spend the week-end with Camellia," announced my
hostess at the breakfast-table one morning, glancing up from a note
which the hall-boy had just brought to the door.

The Skeptic jumped in his chair. "Those same old sensations come over
me," he announced, digging away vengefully at his grapefruit. "What have
I to wear? My only consolation now is that Camellia married a man who
cares about as much what he wears as I do."

"It's not Camellia's clothes that bother me now," said Hepatica
thoughtfully, "so much as the formality of her style of entertaining.
My dear, she has a butler."

"How horrible!" I agreed. "Can I hope to please the eye of the butler?"

"Camellia's husband is a downright good fellow," said the Skeptic
warmly. "The fuss and feathers of his wife's hospitality can't
prevent his giving you the real thing. Even Philo likes to go
there--particularly when Camel