run down for the week-end."

When Conscience had declared her approval the host turned to
Farquaharson. "I shouldn't wonder if you'd like Ebbett. We were
classmates at college, and he was my best man. Aside from that, he's one
of the leading exponents, in this country, of the newer psychology--a
disciple of Freud and Jung, and while many of his ideas strike me as
extreme they are often interesting."

The prophecy proved more than true, for with Dr. Ebbett as a guide,
Farquaharson gratified that avid interest which every sincere writer
must feel for explorations into new fields of thought.

One evening the two sat alone on the terrace in the communion of lighted
cigars and creature comfort long after their host and hostess had gone
to their beds, and Ebbett said thoughtfully, and without introduction:

"It seems to have worked out. And God knows I'm glad, because I had my
misgivings."

"What has worked out?" inquired the younger man and the neurologist
jerked his head toward the house.

"This marriage," he said. "When I came to the wedding, I could not
escape a heavy portent of danger. There was the difference in age to
start with and it was heightened by Eben's solemn and grandiose
tendencies. His nature had too much shadow--not enough sunlight. The
girl on the other hand had a vitality which was supernormal."

He paused and Stuart Farquaharson, restrained by a flood of personal
reminiscence, said nothing. Finally the doctor went on:

"But there was more than that. I'm a Massachusetts man myself, but Eben
is--or was--in type, too damned much the New Englander."

Stuart smiled to himself, but his prompting question came in the tone of
commonplace.

"Just what does that mean to you, Doctor--too much the New Englander?"

Ebbett laughed. "I use the word only as a term--as descriptive of an
intolerance which exists everywhere, north and south, east and west--but
in Eben it was exaggerated. Fortunately, his wife's exuberance of spirit
seems to have brightened it into normality."

"But what, exactly, did you fear, Doctor?"

"I'm afraid I'd have to grow tediously technical to make that clear, but
if you can stand it, I'll try."

"I wish you would," the younger man assured him.

Dr. Ebbett leaned back and studied the ash of his cigar. "Have you ever
noticed in your experience," he abruptly demanded, "that oftentimes the
man who most craftily evades his taxes or indulges in devious business
methods, cannot bring