esides. For instance, if I were married to her, I might
make a considerable effort, not to keep _her_, but--to keep up
appearances."

"And if--you were not married to her?"

"There again it would depend on the woman. I might take it that she'd
left me already."

"Yes, but if you knew she wasn't that sort--if you knew she'd always
been straight with you?"

"Well, then perhaps I might take the trouble to find out whether there
really was another man. Or I might have reason to suppose she was only
trying it on. In which case I should say to her 'My dear Kitty, you're a
very clever woman and it's a brilliant idea you've got. But it's been
tried before and it won't work. You can't draw me that way.'"

"But, Wilfrid--if there _was_ another man?"

"Well, it's possible that I might not consider it worth while to dispute
his claim. That would depend altogether on the woman."

"If you cared for her?"

"If I cared enough for her I might be able to convince her that it would
at any rate be prudent, from a worldly point of view, to stick to me.
But _that_ would depend, wouldn't it, on the amount of the other
fellow's income?"

"And if all that didn't matter in the very least to her, if she didn't
care a rap about anybody's income, if she cared for the other fellow
more than she'd ever cared for you, if she didn't care for your caring,
if she cared for nothing except _his_ caring, and nothing you could do
could move her--what would you do then?"

He paused to light another cigarette before he answered her. "I should
probably tell her, first of all, that for all I cared she might go to
the devil, I mean to the other fellow, and stay there as long as he
wanted her."

"Well"--she said placably.

"That's what I should say first. Afterward, when we were both a little
calmer--if I cared for her, Kitty--I should ask her to think a moment
before she did anything rash, to be quite sure that she would really be
happier with the other fellow. And I should point out to her very
clearly that, in any case, if she once went, it would not be open to her
to come back."

"But you wouldn't try and keep her?"

"I couldn't keep her, my dear child, by trying."

"No--you couldn't keep her. Not for yourself. But, if you could keep her
from the other man, would you?"

"I dare say I should do my best."

"Would you do your worst? No, Wilfrid, you've been very good to me--I
don't believe you'd do your worst."

"What do you mean," he sai