is not a crime, but it is a tragedy," said Lady Mary. "Age is a
tragedy to every woman who wants to be happy."

"No more, surely, than to every man who loves his work, and sees it
slipping from his grasp," said John, slowly. "It's a tragedy we all
have to face, for that matter."

"But so much later," said Lady Mary, quickly.

"I don't see why women should leave off wanting to be happy any sooner
than men," he said stoutly.

"But Nature does," she answered.

John's eyes twinkled. "For my part, I am thankful to fate, which
caused me to fall in love with a woman only ten years my junior,
instead of with a girl young enough to be my daughter. I have gained a
companion as well as a wife; and marvellously adaptive as young women
are, I am conceited enough to think my ideas have travelled beyond
the ideas of most girls of eighteen; and I am not conceited enough to
suppose the girl of eighteen would not find me an old fogey very much
in the way. Let boys mate with girls, say I, and men with women."

Lady Mary smiled in spite of herself. "You know, John, you would
argue entirely the other way round if you happened to be in love
with--Sarah," she said.

"To be sure," said John; "it's my trade to argue for the side which
retains my services. I am your servant, thank Heaven, and not Sarah's.
And I have no intention of quitting your service," he added, more
gravely. "We have settled the question of the future."

"The empty future that suddenly grew so bright," said Lady Mary,
dreamily. "Do you remember how you talked of--Italy?"

"Where we shall yet spend our honeymoon," said John. "But I believe
you liked better to hear of my shabby rooms in London which you meant
to share."

"Of course," she said simply. "I knew I should bring you so little
money."

"And you thought barristers always lived from hand to mouth, and made
no allowance for my having got on in my profession."

"Ah! what did it matter?"

"I think you will find it makes just a little difference," John said,
smiling.

"Outside circumstances make less difference to women than men
suppose," said Lady Mary. "They are, oh, so willing to be pampered
in luxury; and, oh, so willing to fly to the other extreme, and do
without things."

"Are they really?" said John, rather dryly.

He glanced at the little, soft, white hand he held, and smiled. It
looked so unfitted to help itself.

Lady Mary was resting in her armchair, her delicate face still flushed
with e