, fond as he
was of his friend, fond as he was, too, of the girl with whom he had
worked during these weeks of spring, Barry was clear-sighted enough to
feel assured that such a marriage would not make for happiness.

It might answer for a time. If Toni wore genuinely attached to Rose, as
Barry was inclined to believe, it was possible--nay, probable--that her
affection for him would bring out the best in Owen's nature, and he
would repay that affection with a real and kindly consideration. But
when the first freshness had worn off, when Owen should have grown used
to the girl's shy gratitude and devotion, when her prettiness, her
radiant youth, her naive simplicity should have ceased to charm, what
then would remain?

For all his sporting instincts Owen was primarily a man of letters,
versatile, brilliant, even distinguished in his way; and Barry foresaw a
bitter disillusionment for each of the pair when the real dissimilarity
of their natures should, as must inevitably happen, become apparent to
both.

To Toni, who never willingly opened a book, her husband's delight and
absorption in the masterpieces of literature must be a constant wonder;
while to Rose, Toni's ignorance, her youthful, unashamed lack of
interest in the "things which matter" would be a perpetual irritation.

Although not so brilliant as his friend, Barry experienced at times
flashes of almost uncanny insight; and as he contemplated the
possibility of this marriage he had a sudden clear conviction that it
would not, could not, turn out successfully.

"See here, Owen"--he faced the other man resolutely--"you must know the
thing is quite impossible. Miss Gibbs is a nice little girl, a pretty
little thing and as straight as a die. But she is not your equal in any
sense; neither socially nor intellectually; and though you may not
believe it, you would regret the marriage in a week."

Owen looked at him, half-affectionately, half-quizzically, for a moment.

"Why should I, Barry? Toni may not be of very exalted birth, but she is
a hundred times more ladylike than half the flappers one meets in
Society nowadays, with their cigarette-cases, their bridge purses and
their slangy talk. One of those loud young women would be the death of
me in a week--and you know Toni's voice is delightfully soft, with quite
a Southern intonation--caught in Italy, I expect."

"But what of her education--or lack of it?" Barry went on relentlessly.
"You know quite well tha