usiness
with me, he does so apologetically, as if he were treating me roughly."

"Well, my dear, you see, when he tried the other plan, you did not like
that either. What is the unfortunate man to do?"

"I dont know. I suppose I was wrong in shrinking from his confidence. I
am always wrong. It seems to me that the more I try to do right, the
more mischief I contrive to make."

"This is all pretty dismal, Marian. What sort of conduct on his part
would make you happy?"

"Oh, there are so many little things. He makes me jealous of everything
and everybody. I am jealous of the men in the city--I was jealous of the
sanitary inspector the other day--because he talks with interest to
them. I know he stays in the city later than he need. It is a relief to
me to go out in the evening, or to have a few people here once or twice
a week; but I am angry because I know it is a relief to him too. I am
jealous even of that organ. How I hale those Bach fugues! Listen to the
maddening thing twisting and rolling and racing and then mixing itself
up into one great boom. He can get on with Bach: he can't get on with
me. I have even condescended to be jealous of other women--of such women
as Mrs. Saunders. He despises her: he plays with her as dexterously as
she thinks she plays with him; but he likes to chat with her; and they
rattle away for a whole evening without the least constraint. She has no
conscience: she talks absolute nonsense about art and literature: she
flirts even more disgustingly than she used to when she was Belle
Woodward; but she is quickwitted, like most Irish people; and she enjoys
a broad style of jesting which Ned is a great deal too tolerant of,
though he would as soon die as indulge in it before me. Then there is
Mrs. Scott, who is just as shrewd as Belle, and much cleverer. I have
heard him ask her opinion as to whether he had acted well or not in some
stroke of business--something that I had never heard of, of course. I
wish I were half as hard and strong and self-reliant as she is. _Her_
husband would be nothing without her."

"I am afraid I was right all along, Marian. Marriage _is_ a mistake.
There is something radically wrong in the institution. If you and Ned
cannot be happy, no pair in the world can."

"We might be very happy if----" Marian stopped to repress a sob.

"Anybody might be very happy If. There is not much consolation in Ifs.
You could not be better off than you are unless you could be Mar