didn't
recognize him until he spoke to me. He was worn to skin and bone. I
found that he had abandoned all his possessions to Mrs. Orchard, and
just kept himself alive on casual work for the magazines, wandering
about the shores of the Mediterranean like an uneasy spirit. He showed
me the thing he had last written, and I see it is published in this
month's _Macmillan_. Do read it. An exquisite description of a night in
Alexandria. One of these days he will starve to death. A pity; he might
have done fine work.'

'But we await your explanation. What business has he to desert his wife
and children?'

'Let me give an account of a day I spent with him at Tintern, not long
before I left England. He and his wife were having a holiday there, and
I called on them. We went to walk about the Abbey. Now, for some two
hours--I will be strictly truthful--whilst we were in the midst of that
lovely scenery, Mrs. Orchard discoursed unceasingly of one subject--the
difficulty she had with her domestic servants. Ten or twelve of these
handmaidens were marshalled before our imagination; their names, their
ages, their antecedents, the wages they received, were carefully
specified. We listened to a _catalogue raisonne_ of the plates, cups,
and other utensils that they had broken. We heard of the enormities
which in each case led to their dismissal. Orchard tried repeatedly to
change the subject, but only with the effect of irritating his wife.
What could he or I do but patiently give ear? Our walk was ruined, but
there was no help for it. Now, be good enough to extend this kind of
thing over a number of years. Picture Orchard sitting down in his home
to literary work, and liable at any moment to an invasion from Mrs.
Orchard, who comes to tell him, at great length, that the butcher has
charged for a joint they have not consumed--or something of that kind.
He assured me that his choice lay between flight and suicide, and I
firmly believed him.'

As he concluded, his eyes met those of Miss Nunn, and the latter
suddenly spoke.

'Why will men marry fools?'

Barfoot was startled. He looked down into his plate, smiling.

'A most sensible question,' said the hostess, with a laugh. 'Why,
indeed?'

'But a difficult one to answer,' remarked Everard, with his most
restrained smile. 'Possibly, Miss Nunn, narrow social opportunity has
something to do with it. They must marry some one, and in the case of
most men choice is seriously restricted.