preciating
those qualities. They were, so to speak, the sauce which went with the
meat, and it seemed to him that in this case the sauce was of the very
best.

George--a big fellow of twenty-six, with large, round eyes and a
good-natured countenance--was full blooded, well fed, with a hearty
laugh which spoke of unimpaired contentment, a soul untroubled in its
deeps. He seemed to himself the luckiest fellow in the whole round
world; he could not think what he had done to deserve the good fortune
of possessing such a girl as Henriette. He was ordinarily of a somewhat
sentimental turn--easily influenced by women and sensitive to their
charms. Moreover, his relationship with Lizette had softened him. He had
learned to love the young working girl, and now Henriette, it seemed,
was to reap the benefit of his experience with her.

In fact, he found himself always with memories of Lizette in his
relationships with the girl who was to be his wife. When the engagement
was announced, and he claimed his first kiss from his bride-to-be, as
he placed a ring upon her finger, he remembered the first time he had
kissed Lizette, and a double blush suffused his round countenance. When
he walked arm and arm with Henriette in the garden he remembered how he
had walked just so with the other girl, and he was interested to compare
the words of the two. He remembered what a good time had had when he
had taken Lizette and her little family for a picnic upon one of the
excursion steamers which run down the River Seine. Immediately he
decided that he would like to take Henriette on such a picnic, and he
persuaded an aunt of Henriette's to go with her as a chaperon. George
took his bride-to-be to the same little inn where he had lunch before.

Thus he was always haunted by memories, some of which made him cheerful
and some of which made him mildly sad. He soon got used to the idea, and
did not find it awkward, except when he had to suppress the impulse to
tell Henriette something which Lizette had said, or some funny incident
which had happened in the home of the little family. Sometimes he found
himself thinking that it was a shame to have to suppress these impulses.
There must be something wrong, he thought, with a social system which
made it necessary for him to hide a thing which was so obvious and so
sensible. Here he was, a man twenty-six years of age; he could not
have afforded to marry earlier, nor could he, as he thought, have been
ex