ading men on to talk. They pretend to be so
interested, ask such gentle little questions, are so sympathetic, so
kind ... and when it comes to sport, a girl like Vivian can talk as well
as any man."

He sighed impatiently.

"We didn't talk sentiment--those days. We were chums--the best of
chums ... discussed flying, motoring--she used to drive a little car
of her own. Sometimes we played golf--and, by Jove, she could pretty
nearly beat me! She was interested in all the things I liked, was a
rattling good shot with a rifle, and hadn't a nerve in her. Clever, too;
could talk on all sorts of subjects, and had read books I'd never even
heard of! She spoke three or four languages ... but--but it wasn't
that."

He broke off in his rambling talk to light a cigarette, and then
continued, in the same musing tone.

"It was something else. She was so handsome, so--so fine, somehow. I
used to think, when we were engaged, that she was like Brunhilde, or
some of the other Wagnerian heroines. Sometimes I couldn't help
thinking"--he coloured--"what splendid children a woman like that would
have. She ... she satisfied one, somehow. You knew she was sound in
every way--the sort of woman one would always be proud of--and when I
thought of her as the mistress of Greenriver, I----"

He threw away his cigarette impatiently.

"What a fool I am! What a damned fool you must think me, raving about a
woman who played me the shabbiest trick a woman could play! God! When I
think of it--think how I was deceived, I--I hate the woman! I hate
myself for being such a fool, but I hate her more! Well, she's married
now--good luck to her!--and there's only one thing for me to do; I must
get married too!"

"But why?" Barry's blue eyes were very kindly as they looked at his
friend. "Why not go on as you are for a bit longer?"

"Why not?" He stretched out his arms with a curious, restless gesture.
"Because I've got unsettled, I suppose. You see, when you've looked on
yourself as practically a married man, planned everything, renounced
your bachelor ways and anticipated a new and more settled existence,
well, somehow you can't go back to the old state of things. There's the
house, too. I feel as though I wanted to live in it again--the servants
are clamouring for me to go there. I promised, you know, and the river
is so lovely in the summer...."

"Well, why not go down and have a car?"

"Go there--alone?" He spoke bitterly. "No, thanks. That would