gs was the only aspect of her that sustained the parvenu idea; and
it wasn't in any way carried out by her manners, which were as modest
and silent and inaggressive as the very best can be. Personally he liked
opulence, he responded to countless-guinea furs....

Soon there was a neat little history in his mind that was reasonably
near the truth, of a hard-up professional family, fatherless perhaps, of
a mercenary marriage at seventeen or so--and this....

And while Mr. Brumley's observant and speculative faculties were thus
active, his voice was busily engaged. With the accumulated artistry of
years he was developing his pose. He did it almost subconsciously. He
flung out hint and impulsive confidence and casual statement with the
careless assurance of the accustomed performer, until by nearly
imperceptible degrees that finished picture of the two young lovers,
happy, artistic, a little Bohemian and one of them doomed to die, making
their home together in an atmosphere of sunny gaiety, came into being in
her mind....

"It must have been beautiful to have begun life like that," she said in
a voice that was a sigh, and it flashed joyfully across Mr. Brumley's
mind that this wonderful person could envy his Euphemia.

"Yes," he said, "at least we had our Spring."

"To be together," said the lady, "and--so beautifully poor...."

There is a phase in every relationship when one must generalize if one
is to go further. A certain practice in this kind of talk with ladies
blunted the finer sensibilities of Mr. Brumley. At any rate he was able
to produce this sentence without a qualm. "Life," he said, "is sometimes
a very extraordinary thing."

Lady Harman reflected upon this statement and then responded with an air
of remembered moments: "Isn't it."

"One loses the most precious things," said Mr. Brumley, "and one loses
them and it seems as though one couldn't go on. And one goes on."

"And one finds oneself," said Lady Harman, "without all sorts of
precious things----" And she stopped, transparently realizing that she
was saying too much.

"There is a sort of vitality about life," said Mr. Brumley, and stopped
as if on the verge of profundities.

"I suppose one hopes," said Lady Harman. "And one doesn't think. And
things happen."

"Things happen," assented Mr. Brumley.

For a little while their minds rested upon this thought, as chasing
butterflies might rest together on a flower.

"And so I am going to leave th