r
pardon," he said humbly, taking her hand; "tell me more."

"She has deserted me," said Beatrice quietly. "With her I made my one
great mistake--natural, but irreparable. I thought her true, and one
day, when I was in need of a woman's sympathy and help, I told her
all ... all, even to the hiding-place of the treaty. It is too late
for regrets or fears. Now we must act."

CHAPTER VI

THE HISTORY OF HENRY BROWN

Mr. Henry Brown was a man of forty, an age that is supposed to be the
prime of life, though most of us would prefer to be ten years younger.
At forty one has shed most illusions, but at least there is the
consolation of having arrived at a workable philosophy. For some of us
this philosophy may mean simple acquiescence; for others an attitude of
pleased contemplation, like a yokel smoking his pipe, leaning on the
gate of a summer evening. Those of us who are married and without the
philosophy of our own are fortunate in having one--if not
several--provided by a wife. And her philosophy, grounded on practical
common sense rather than a study of the metaphysicians, is of much more
value to the world than abstract thought. She is, in short, better
adapted for keeping us up to the mark.

Henry Brown was unlucky enough to be a bachelor. This was through no
fault of his own, for as a young man he had dreamed his dreams of a snug
little home, a cheerful wife, and chubby children, who were always to
remain at an age not exceeding nine. His dreams, with their usual
perversity, had not been realized, though on more than one occasion he
had made efforts to find his ideal. There had been, for instance, the
daughter of a chimney-sweep, a virtuous and charming creature. There had
been a policeman's niece, whose boast it was that she could "slip the
bracelets"--her own expression--on a refractory subject as quickly as a
professional thief-taker. There had been the relict of a fish-and-chips
salesman, and quite a number of others, equally alluring and
disappointing. In his early youth he had dallied with them all, but he
had never got beyond the dallying stage.

The reason had been always the same. It was not that he had failed to
find the ideal: not at all! The quarry of the moment had always seemed
the most peerless of her sex--with a mental reservation giving the
policeman's niece the pride of place. It was simply because he could not
afford to marry. Girls would "walk out" with him with pleasure. They
would