s?" Therese asked.

"Yes. I had been inveigled into going on a river excursion," he said,
plunging into the story, "Heaven knows how. Perhaps I was feeling
unwell--I really can't remember. But at all events I met a friend who
introduced me early in the day to a young girl--Fanny Larimore. She
was a pretty little thing, not more than twenty, all pink and white
and merry blue eyes and stylish clothes. Whatever it was, there was
something about her that kept me at her side all day. Every word and
movement of hers had an exaggerated importance for me. I fancied such
things had never been said or done quite in the same way before."

"You were in love," sighed Therese. Why the sigh she could not have
told.

"I presume so. Well, after that, I found myself thinking of her at the
most inopportune moments. I went to see her again and again--my first
impression deepened, and in two weeks I had asked her to marry me. I
can safely say, we knew nothing of each other's character. After
marriage, matters went well enough for a while." Hosmer here arose,
and walked the length of the room.

"Mrs. Lafirme," he said, "can't you understand that it must be a
painful thing for a man to disparage one woman to another: the woman
who has been his wife to the woman he loves? Spare me the rest."

"Please have no reservations with me; I shall not misjudge you in any
case," an inexplicable something was moving her to know what remained
to be told.

"It wasn't long before she attempted to draw me into what she called
society," Hosmer continued. "I am little versed in defining shades of
distinction between classes, but I had seen from the beginning that
Fanny's associates were not of the best social rank by any means. I
had vaguely expected her to turn from them, I suppose, when she
married. Naturally, I resisted anything so distasteful as being
dragged through rounds of amusement that had no sort of attraction
whatever for me. Besides, my business connections were extending, and
they claimed the greater part of my time and thoughts.

"A year after our marriage our boy was born." Here Hosmer ceased
speaking for a while, seemingly under pressure of a crowding of
painful memories.

"The child whose picture you have at the office?" asked Therese.

"Yes," and he resumed with plain effort: "It seemed for a while that
the baby would give its mother what distraction she sought so
persistently away from home; but its influence did not last and she